^PLAYERS/ 

VIRGINIA    ? 


- 


vayjl 


MERELY  PLAYERS 


STORIES    OF    STAGE    LIFE 


BY 


VIRGINIA  TRACY 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1909 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Copyright,  1901,  1902,  1903,  1906,  1907,  by  P.  F.  Collier  and  Son. 

Copyright,  1907,  by  The  Frank  A.  Munsey  Company. 

Copyright,  1908,  by  Chas.  Scribner>s  Sons. 


Published,  May,  1909 


TO 
MY  MOTHER 


The  players  come,  the  players  go, 
Out  of  the  shadows  they  advance 
To  meet  the  laughter  and  the  dance, 
The  light,  the  song,  the  happy  chance 
Of  hero 's  death  or  prince 's  woe ; 
They  have  their  moment  to  entrance, 
To  lose  the  world  or  catch  its  glance, 
Then  they  are  gone;  the  lights  sink  low, 
And  to  all  you  who  cheered  them  so 
They  still  are  nothing  but  a  show. 

This  is  the  humble  voice  and  small 

Of  one  who  sat  behind  the  scene, 

Who  saw  the  rough  woof  of  the  screen, — 

Pierrot  in  tears,  the  discrowned  queen, 

The  hopes  that  faint  by  the  high  wall, 

The  luck  that  leaps  it,  unforeseen, 

The  common  joys  that  kiss  between 

The  tragic,  tired  shadows  tall;  — 

Who  yet,  at  every  curtain's  fall 

Said  to  her  heart,  "I  loved  it— all!" 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  LOTUS  EATERS  .    .    . 3 

A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY 43 

THE  TAMELESS  TEAM 65 

IN  AUGUST 89 

THE  PRINCESS  KOSALBA 105 

THE  INTERPRETRESS 151 

A  DANGER  OF  DELAY 171 

NOBILITY  OBLIGES 193 

ABOVE  RUBIES 223 

AN  INDISCRETION  OF  His  MAJESTY 247 

THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME 257 

THE  PROFESSIONALS  .  285 


[Thanks  are  due  to  Collier's  Weekly,  to  Scribner's  Magazine,  and  to 
Munsey's  Magazine  for  their  permission  to  reprint  these  stories. 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS 


MERELY    PLAYERS 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS 

4t  A  ND  leaves  me  to  starve,"  said  Estella,  cutting 
/\  off  a  leg  of  the  chicken  and  throwing  it  to  the 
nearest  dog.  ''Leaves  me  to  starve  in  the  gutter  and 
leaves  Regina,  his  own  flesh  and  blood — look  at  that 
child,  Kate,  look  at  her !  What  sort  of  a  brute  could  de- 
sert a  child  like  that?  Was  her  mother's  comfort,  yes, 
she  was! — leaves  Regina  without  a  rag  to  her  back." 
She  absent-mindedly  put  a  piece  of  chicken  into  her 
mouth  and  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table. 

' '  I  really  don 't  know  what  we  shall  do  about  the  rent, ' ' 
said  Mrs.  Donnelly.  "When  he  came  for  it  this  morn- 
ing he  told  Barbara  he'd  be  back  this  afternoon,  and 
it's  a  hot  day  for  anybody  to  be  out,  let  alone  a  fat 
fellow  like  him.  You  can't  put  off  the  landlord  himself 
like  you  can  an  agent,  anyway.  I  could  pay  ten  dollars 
on  account  next  Saturday  night.  If  he  won 't  take  that, 
or  your  alimony  doesn't  come,  I  don't  know  what  will 
become  of  us." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  either,"  said  Estella.  "It 
seems  such  a  nuisance  to  move.  Speak  for  it  then?" — 
"Woof!  Woof!"  said  Dooley,  the  fatter  of  the  Scotch 
terriers — "I  thought  we  were  going  to  be  so  happy  here, 

3 


4  MERELY  PLAYERS 

too,  when  we  first  came.    He  seemed  such  a  nice,  unas- 
suming sort  of  man." 

Tony,  who  was  washing  the  household  linen  in  the 
kitchen,  put  his  head  through  the  doorway.  It  was 
rather  a  lordly  little  black  head  and  belonged  to  a  young 
fellow  of  a  slender  middle  height,  motions  extraordinarily 
light  and  free,  and  blue,  humorous,  inquisitive,  confiden- 
tial eyes.  Said  he:  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Estella,  but 
the  big  dishpan — has  it  gone  to  heaven  ? ' ' 

"It's  out  on  the  fire-escape,"  replied  Estella,  ''with 
gasoline  in  it.  I  put  all  the  old  gloves  I  could  find  into 
gasoline  this  morning,  so  that  if  any  of  us  should  happen 
to  get  an  engagement,  they  'd  have  clean  gloves  anyway. ' ' 

Tony  withdrew.  He  had  not  looked  at  Estella,  but 
at  Barbara,  the  Beauty,  who  sat  in  the  window-sill  and 
continued  to  look  neither  at  him  nor  at  Estella  nor  at 
the  riot  of  the  dogs  and  the  chicken-bones  and  Regina 
upon  the  uncarpeted  floor,  but  across  the  shining  roof- 
tops to  the  Palisades. 

The  mistress  of  this  Harlem  flat  was  Mrs.  Baker, 
Estella  Cortelyou  in  stage  life.  Mr.  Baker  was  divorced. 
He  was  a  prosperous  person  and  paid  a  considerable 
alimony,  with  which  he  was  not  always  sufficiently 
prompt.  "With  Mrs.  Baker  lived  her  infant  daughter, 
Regina  Rosalys,  and  her  younger  sister,  Barbara  Floyd. 
Also  she  had  as  summer  boarders  Mr.  Anthony  Regnault, 
a  young  actor  who  seldom  happened  to  be  out  of  work, 
Mr.  Fred  Donnelly,  not  much  older,  who  seldom  hap- 
pened to  be  in  it,  and  Mrs.  Kate  Donnelly,  an  elderly 
typewriter,  who  had  married  a  brother  Donnelly,  de- 
ceased. All  the  boarders  paid  far  more  than  their 
board,  when  they  had  it,  and  nothing  at  all  when  they 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  5 

had  not.  At  the  present  moment,  they  had  been  some 
time  through  lunch  without  having  as  yet  cleared  away 
its  remains,  and  Estella  and  Mrs.  Donnelly,  whose  em- 
ployer was  away  on  his  own  vacation,  had  been  regaling 
the  company  with  accounts  of  the  Kussian  coronation, 
which  they  read  from  the  newspapers  that  strewed  the 
room.  Fred  Donnelly,  who  was  busy  pinning  the  edge 
of  his  tie  over  a  spot  he  had  just  discovered  on  his  shirt- 
front,  gloomily  commented  upon  Estella 's  last  remark: 
"I  guess  it'll  be  a  long  enough  day  before  any  of  us  get 
an  engagement!" 

"You  forget  Tony!"  said  his  sister-in-law. 

"I  ain't  ever  let  to,"  Fred  responded  with  some 
savagery.  "I — can't  you  stop  gorging  on  those  papers 
a  minute  ?  They  're  two  months  old. ' ' 

"That  makes  'em  all  the  lovelier,"  replied  Estella. 
"Tony  threw  them  off  the  kitchen  shelf  this  morning, 
and  I  felt  so  good  to  read  it  all  over  again.  You  feel 
sure,  then,  that  it's  all  true." 

"Tony's  generous  with  his  old  newspapers.  That's 
because  he's  signed  for  a  job.  But  he  don't  begin  till 
November.  November — Lord!  you  can't  believe  there's 
ever  going  to  be  such  a  month." 

"Oh,  we  may  all  be  working  by  then,"  cried  Estella 
in  her  voice  of  tragic  fire.  ' '  You  can 't  tell.  You  don 't 
suppose  we're  going  to  go  on  like  this,  do  you?" 

"Not  if  we  don't  pay  the  rent,  we  ain't,"  said  Fred. 
"We'll  have  fifteen  dollars  the  week  after  next,  Bar- 
bara and  me,  if  we  pose  for  those  kinetoscope  things. 
But  we  owe  all  that  now,  in  little  bills. ' ' 

"That  reminds  me,  Tony,"  Estella  called,  "I  wish  you 
could  get  both  the  tablecloths  ironed  by  to-night,  'cause 


6  MERELY  PLAYERS 

you  can't  do  it  to-morrow.  No;  they're  going  to  shut 
off  the  gas  to-night;  we  had  a  notice  from  'em  yester- 
day." 

"Well,  this  fellow  was  just  right,"  declared  Mrs.  Don- 
nelly, glaring  up  from  her  newspaper;  "this  one  that 
refused  to  kiss  the  Czarina's  hand.  It's  a  nasty,  silly 
thing  to  do.  They'll  never  catch  me  doing  it." 

"Nor  me,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Tony,  reappearing  with 
a  bucket  that  brimmed  wet  tablecloths.  He  paused  for 
a  moment  in  the  doorway  and  leaned  there,  exceedingly 
comfortable  and  cool.  Indeed,  on  this  midsummer  after- 
noon, when  the  unshaded  dining-room  appeared  alto- 
gether huddled  and  tousled  and  hot,  there  was  in  the  look 
of  this  very  competent  amateur  laundryman  something 
so  tranquil,  so  airy  and  sylvan,  that  it  might  have  sug- 
gested a  beneficent  gentleman-dryad  but  for  the  absurd 
great  pipe  which  was  hanging  out  of  his  mouth.  "I'll 
take  these  up  to  the  roof  now,  Estella;  I've  just  hung 
out  the  smaller  pieces.  We  can 't  tell  but  that  later  Bar- 
bara '11  help  me  take  them  down.  But  I  do  hope,  Stella 
Cortelyou,  that  the  next  flat  we  appropriate  will  have  a 
coal  range.  If  we  are  to  have  no  fire  to  iron  with  to- 
morrow, how  shall  we  cook?" 

' '  I  suppose  we  '11  have  to  go  out  to  our  meals.  I  've  got 
my  wedding-ring  yet.  He  can  force  me  to  part  with 
that,  Tommy  Baker  can,  but  he  can't  force  me  to  let 
our  child  starve. ' ' 

* '  That  must  be  very  disenchanting  for  Tommy, ' '  Tony 
answered.  "But  I  think  I'll  leap  out  with  a  chair  or 
two  before  it  comes  to  our  eating  up  your  wedding- 
ring,  Estella." 

Regina  Rosalys,  who  was  at  that  moment  recuperating 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  7 

from  her  wrestling  matches  with  the  dogs,  said  suddenly : 

"Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring." 

"No,  no,  darling.  Poor  Auntie  Barbara  hasn't  got 
any  ring  at  all.  You  lost  Auntie  Barbara's  little  blue 
ring  down  the  stationary  washstand,  don't  you  remem- 
ber?" 

"No,  no,  Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring. "  Regina's  fat  little 
hands  formed  an  oblong  about  the  size  of  a  cucumber. 
"Big,"  she  persisted,  nodding. 

' '  She  means  that  Indian  bracelet, ' '  said  Estella.  Tony 
looked  anxiously  and  a  little  fearfully  at  Barbara,  and 
forgot  to  joke.  At  that  moment  the  door  bell  rang. 
Tony  leaned  back  into  the  kitchen  and  pressed  the  little 
electric'  button  which  opened  the  street  door. 

"Oh!"  cried  Estella,  "that's  the  expressman  with  my 
money  now."  She  rose  and  ran  into  the  hall. 

There  was  a  waiting  silence.  Tony  continued  to  lean 
on  the  doorway  and  look  at  the  girl  in  the  window-seat. 
She  had  gray  eyes  of  a  miraculous,  deep  clearness,  but 
she  kept  these  turned  away  in  a  far-off  quiet,  profound 
enough  to  strike  cold  upon  a  suitor's  heart.  Tony  had 
to  content  himself  with  the  faint  bright  color  in  the  oval 
of  her  cheeks ;  the  pale  rose  of  her  faded  and  shrunken 
cotton  blouse  stopped  in  a  little  drawn  circle  at  her 
throat;  the  throat  itself  was  very  white  and  regal  look- 
ing under  the  piled  fairness  of  Barbara's  brown  hair. 
One  hand  dropped,  motionless,  against  her  old  gray  skirt, 
and  Tony  smiled  to  it  wistfully.  It  was  a  modest  smile, 
under  a  trick  of  audacity.  Tony  was  three-and-twenty, 
and  all  women  except  Barbara  had  done  their  best  to 
spoil  him, — except  Barbara,  who  had  remained  silent  the 
summer  through  before  his  love.  By  the  community  be- 


8  MERELY  PLAYERS 

fore  which  so  much  of  it  had,  perforce,  to  be  carried  on, 
the  love-making  was  encouragingly  ignored,  but  the  com- 
munity was  beginning  to  get  restless,  because  from  the 
lady  it  received  no  confidence.  The  summer  was  sunning 
itself  away,  and  still  Barbara  rested,  whether  or  not  to 
be  wooed,  passive,  idle,  enigmatic,  lovely;  and  still 
prayerfully,  and  with  deft  derision,  Tony  continued  pub- 
licly to  woo  her.  Now,  though  he  could  not  catch  her 
glance,  his  eyes  spoke  declarations  twenty  times  a  min- 
ute, and  formally  proposed  to  her.  They  besought,  com- 
manded, laughed  at  her,  adored  her.  Suddenly,  when 
there  seemed  least  hope,  she  turned  round  and  looked 
at  him.  It  was  a  very  steadfast,  searching  look,  and 
Tony  tingled  and  rejoiced  to  meet  it.  He  lifted  his  head 
happily,  with  a  singular  pride,  and  at  the  little  motion 
the  girl  put  her  hand  sharply  to  her  throat  and  turned 
away. 

' '  He 's  a  long  time  coming  upstairs, ' '  said  Fred. 

At  that  moment  Estella  ran  back  into  the  hall  of  the 
flat  and  closed  the  door  with  the  effect  of  a  subdued 
cyclone. 

"It's  not  the  expressman!"  she  called,  in  a  shrieking 
whisper.  "The  top  of  his  head  looks  like  the  milkman, 
and  his  bill's  due."  Tony  laughed  aloud. 

"Tell  him  to  come  again,"  suggested  Kate  Donnelly, 
still  fortified  by  immersion  in  the  coronation  glories. 

"Told  him  that  last  time,"  said  Fred. 

"Oh,  well,  maybe  he  wasn't  coming  here,"  said  Es- 
tella, listening  a  moment,  and  continued.  "Maybe  it 
was  only  the  janitor,  after  all.  Once  before  the  alimony 
didn't  come,  and  then  it  turned  out  the  expressman  had 
brought  it  two  or  three  times,  only  the  downstairs  bell 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  9 

didn't  ring,  so  to-day  I  asked  the  janitor  to  ring  the 
bell  every  time  he  went  past,  so  I  'd  feel  quite  easy. ' ' 

The  upstairs  bell  unkindly  rang. 

"Ssh!"  hissed  Bstella;  " pretend  we're  out." 

"Is  he  to  suppose  the  downstairs  door  was  opened  by 
a  spook?"  Tony  whispered. 

"Well,  you  needn't  talk.  You  did  it."  She  came 
back  into  the  dining-room,  and  sat  down  with  infinite 
non-rustling  precautions.  ' '  I  'm  sure  I  'd  like  to  pay  him 
as  well  as  anybody.  Indeed,  nobody  has  the  horror  of 
debt  I've  got.  I  tremble  with  it  when  I  wake  in  the 
night.  It 's  born  in  me,  I  don 't  know  why.  But  I  can 't 
pay  what  I  haven't  got,  not  if  I  was  to  coin  my  blood 
for  it."  The  bell  rang  again.  "Well,  he  can  just  tire 
himself  out  at  that,"  Estella  added.  "I  should  think 
he'd  know  we'd  have  opened  it  before  if  we'd  wanted 
him." 

Tony 's  eyes  overran  with  laughter.  Begina  threw  her- 
self into  Barbara's  lap,  and  Barbara  put  her  face  into 
the  black  mop  of  Regina's  curls,  and  began  to  whisper 
a  story  to  her. 

"I  wish  I  was  out  of  the  whole  business,"  muttered 
Fred:  "out  of  the  profession,  I  mean.  I  wish  I  knew 
another  durned  thing  to  do.  I  had  a  chance  to  be  a 
dentist  once,  but  I  was  too  good  for  it  then.  When 
that  old  aunt  of  mine  in  Ireland  dies,  I  bet  I  take  my 
share  of  what  she  leaves  and  buy  an  interest  in  a  busi- 
ness. And  when  you're  all  down  on  your  luck,  you 
can  come  to  me,  people,  and  I'll  help  you  out." 

"My  share  in  that  pneumatic  tire '11  be  worth  thou- 
sands of  dollars  by  then,"  said  Mrs.  Donnelly,  refolding 
her  newspaper.  "They've  got  a  backer  for  it  now  who's 


10  MERELY  PLAYERS 

going  to  put  it  right  on  the  market.  Will  Knowles  says 
there 's  a  fortune  in  it,  and  he 's  an  inventor. ' ' 

"I  was  thinking  the  other  day  it  would  be  nice  to 
invent  something,"  replied  Estella;  "but  I  never  get 
mine  finished,  somehow." 

The  enemy  without  gave  a  final  knock  and  ring,  and 
departed.  He  was  pursued  downstairs  by  the  barks  of 
the  terriers  and  the  shrieks  of  Regina,  who  at  that  mo- 
ment rushed,  all  three,  into  each  other's  arms. 

"Look  here,"  said  Fred;  "are  you  sure  it  wasn't  Mr. 
Bates,  come  for  the  rent  ?  He  told  Barbara  he  'd  be  here 
at  three  o'clock." 

"Mercy!  Look  out  of  the  window,  Barbara,  and  see 
who  it  was."  Barbara  leaned  out  and  down,  watching. 

"Well,  I  vow!"  said  Mrs.  Donnelly.  "Do  you  know 
what  those  Gostioffs,  or  whatever  their  name  is,  have  been 
doing?  The  Czar  said  everybody  could  make  their 
crowns  out  of  silver-gilt,  because  some  of  'em  are  as 
poor  as  church  mice,  and  those  Gostioffs  have  been  over 
to  Paris  and  had  theirs  made  out  of  solid  gold ! ' ' 

"Who  told  you?" 

' '  It 's  in  the  paper.  And  he 's  just  come  of  age,  a  while 
ago,  and  paid  all  his  debts." 

' '  Seems  rather  an  excessive  person, ' '  Tony  commented. 

Mrs.  Donnelly  made  a  little  clucking  noise  to  her 
newspaper:  "Tsu!  Tsu! — well,  poor  boy,  he  does  all 
he  can." 

' '  Who  ? ' '  demanded  Fred. 

"The  Emperor  of  all  the  Russias,"  answered  Tony, 
laughing  from  under  his  eyelashes  at  Kate.  "Kate's 
very  partial  to  him.  I  sometimes  feel  quite  piqued. ' ' 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  11 

"Well,  I  don't  care.  He's  a  very  good  man;  he 
wants — 

"They  say,"  remarked  Estella  dreamily,  "that  she's 
got  a  gold  typewriter  set  with  diamonds." 

"It  was  the  milkman,"  announced  Barbara,  drawing 
in  her  head. 

Estella  had  picked  up  an  illustrated  weekly,  and  she 
now  passed  it  with  a  tender  smile  to  Mrs.  Donnelly. 
"Wouldn't  Barbara  look  sweet  fixed  just  the  way  the 
Czarina  is?  Those  pearl  ropes — I'll  bet  they're  yards 
long — they  're  just  the  sort  of  thing  that  suits  Barbara. ' ' 

Mrs.  Donnelly  gravely  regarded  the  Czarina's  like- 
ness. "She  looks  very  handsome,"  she  said.  "I  hope 
she'll  be  happy.  She's  got  a  kind  of  a  sad  look.  I 
knew  a  girl  once,  a  nice,  pretty  girl  as  could  be — she 
looked  something  like  our  Barbara,  too,  only  Barbara's 
the  handsomest  of  the  lot — had  something  that  same 
look  at  her  wedding,  and  before  the  very  first  year  was 
out  he  had  run  off  to  Canada  with  a  pot  of  money — 
he  was  a  partner  in  a  wholesale  bicycle  business — and 
another  woman,  and  she,  poor  thing,  had  to  take  in 
boarders. ' ' 

Estella  sat  up,  clutched  her  floating  yellow  dressing- 
sack  about  her  neck,  and  with  the  other  hand  shoved 
back  the  toppling  mass  of  her  black  hair.  ' '  Well ! ' '  she 
cried,  "I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by  that,  Kate 
Donnelly!  I  didn't  think  I  should  ever  be  insulted  at 
my  own  lunch-table  by  people  talking  as  if  it  were  a 
disgrace  to  take  boarders!  You  ought  to  honor  me  for 
it,  or  any  other  honest  way  of  making  my  living.  I've 
got  my  fatherless  child  to  support,  and  I'm  proud  of  it, 


12  MERELY  PLAYERS 

and  as  God  is  my  witness,  I  think  a  woman  can  be  a  lady, 
no  matter  how  little  money  she  has.  And  if  you  mean 
to  insinuate  anything  against  Tom  Baker,  I  can  tell  you 
that  whatever  my  troubles  with  my  husband  may  have 
been — and  I  think  you  might  have  had  more  considera- 
tion for  Regina  than  to  mention  a  woman — there  never 
was  a  breath  against  his  honesty,  and  he  never  quar- 
relled with  but  one  of  his  employers  in  his  life,  that 
would  bring  men  he  knew  home,  drunk,  to  sleep  in  the 
office,  and  that  diamond  bracelet  I  gave  him  to  get 
the  doctor's  bill  on  once  when  he  was  out  of  work,  he 
went  and  got  out  and  gave  it  back  to  me  as  soon  as  I 
got  my  divorce!" 

There  was  a  glass  pitcher  full  of  lemonade  on  the 
table.  Estella  helped  herself  to  a  long  drink,  and  added : 
"And  even  so,  I  shouldn't  call  you  exactly  boarders, 
anyway. ' ' 

Mrs.  Donnelly  arose  in  trembling  majesty  and  took  her 
hat  off  the  mantelpiece.  * '  I  '11  send  you  my  address,  Es- 
tella Baker,"  she  said,  "as  soon  as  I  get  one.  And  you 
can  send  your  bill  in  when  you  like.  I  wouldn't  speak 
to  a  dog  as  you've  spoken  to  me,  and  I  wouldn't  take  it 
from  you  if  you  were  the  Queen  of  England.  And  as 
for  calling  us  boarders,  I  should  think  you  wouldn't, 
with  Tony  working  like  a  black  slave,  and  Fred  putting 
off  the  butcher,  and  me  paying  regular  every  Saturday. 
I  wouldn't  have  stayed  here  to  have  my  ears  deafened 
the  way  you  screech,  Estella  Baker,  for  anybody  but 
Tony,  that  was  the  sweetest  child  I  ever  saw  when  I  used 
to  go  on  as  extra  in  the  Amazon  marches  at  his  father's 
theatre,  before  that  sneaking  hound  of  a  Gillespie  got  it 
away  from  him — though  I've  worked  hard  here  to  help 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  13 

you,  and  glad  to  do  it,  as  you  well  know.  I  hope,  when 
I'm  gone — " 

"Before  you  go,  Kate,  dear,"  said  Tony,  putting  his 
pipe  on  the  mantelpiece,  "we'd  better  clear  the  table, 
or  I  fear  Barbara  will  be  forced  to  work. ' ' 

Barbara  rose  hurriedly,  but  like  a  creature  moving  in 
a  sleep,  and  Mrs.  Donnelly  snatched  up  a  plate  with  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  pushed  the  young  girl  back 
into  the  window-seat.  "Stay  where  you  are,"  said  she, 
and  strode  majestically  into  the  kitchen.  Her  brother- 
in-law,  who  had  not  bestowed  so  much  as  a  glance  upon 
the  previous  debate,  now  lifted  a  newspaper  in  his  turn. 
"There's  a  cut  of  the  Felix  house,"  he  said.  "Down 
below,  you  know,  on  Riverside  Drive,  the  white  stone 
place.  Good  print,  isn't  it?  I  wish  I'd  gone  in  for 
photography  when  I  had  that  chance  three  years  ago. ' ' 

"I  never  thought  I'd  much  care  about  having  that 
house, ' '  said  Estella.  * '  The  windows  come  so  low  down, 
I'd  always  be  afraid  Regina  would  fall  out.  Still,  of 
course,  you  could  put  wires  across  them." 

"Forgot  the  tablecloths,"  cried  Tony,  running  in  and 
snatching  up  the  bucket.  "None  of  you  thought  of 
them,  of  course — loafers!  If  I  have  a  sunstroke  on  the 
roof,  say  I  died  true."  Tony  peered  into  the  pitcher 
of  lemonade  as  he  passed  it.  "Oof!  Little  drops  of 
lemon.  Nothing  more  spirited  for  the  laborer,  the  poor 
laborer,  Mrs.  Tommy?"  At  the  hall  door — "I  will  re- 
turn to  you,  Barbara, ' '  he  said  to  the  back  of  that  young 
lady's  head,  and  vanished. 

"Tony  gone  pok?"  asked  Regina. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Estella,  "if  Tony's  written  those 
words  for  Barbara  to  sing  Sunday  night." 


14  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Anny  Bobs  ta  Rina  pok?"  Regina  persisted. 

"No,  no,"  said  Estella,  "Auntie  Barbara  can't  take 
Regina  to  the  park  now;  it's  too  hot." 

"Too  hot?" 

"Yes;  too  hot.     Make  Auntie  sick.     Poor  Auntie." 

"Poo  Anny;  Anny  Bobs  ta  Rina  pok?" 

"No;  now,  Regina,  you're  naughty." 

Regina  puffed  out  an  under-lip  and  nodded:  "Rina 
awn  do  finey  aws,"  said  she  plaintively. 

"Oh,  Regina,  why  don't  you  learn  to  talk  plainer? 
Oo  bid  dirl,  ess  oo  is,  oo  bid  dirl!  You  mostly  know 
what  she  says,  Fred." 

' '  She  said,  '  Regina  wants  to  go  on  the  flying  horses. '  ' 

"Oh,  darling,  mamma  hasn't  any  money  for  that — 
No,  indeed,  Barbara,  car-fare  and  everything! — You 
can  go  on  the  flying  horses  when  mamma  gets  an  en- 
gagement. Here — here's  a  nickel.  You  can  play  with 
that." 

Regina  turned  the  nickel  over  and  over  in  the  creases 
of  her  little  warm  hand,  and  Fred  returned  to  his  former 
statement — "I  guess  it'll  be  a  long  day  before  any  of 
us  get  an  engagement." 

"I'll  bet  you  anything  you  like,"  cried  Estella,  "that 
I'll  be  starring  in  my  own  play  before  the  year's  out. 
That  play's  bound  to  succeed,  because  it  speaks  right 
to  people's  hearts.  I  wrote  every  word  of  it  out 
of  my  own  soul.  There  isn't  a  line  in  it  without  a 
throb,  and  yet  the  comedy  interest's  good,  too.  I  think 
Barbara '11  be  quite  sweet  in  that.  She's  a  little  tall  for 
comedy,  but  then — .  You  know  Dick  Tannehill.  He 
says  it 's  the  greatest  play  that 's  been  written  in  America 
since  'The  Banker's  Daughter.'  " 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  15 

Mrs.  Donnelly,  who  had  been  going  to  and  from  the 
kitchen  with  the  dishes,  now  swept  away  the  tablecloth, 
and  Estella,  still  clutching  the  lemonade,  and  waving  the 
butter-knife,  leaned  back  to  give  her  free  play.  She 
concluded,  "He  asked  me  why  I  didn't  let  Olga  Nether- 
sole  have  it." 

"Well,  dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Donnelly,  "Why  don't  you? 
I  'm  sure  you  deserve  a  little  luck. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Estella,  "I  guess  not.  Nobody '11  ever 
play  that  part  but  me.  There's  plenty  of  managers 
would  be  glad  to  take  the  play,  and  put  their  own  old 
stars  into  it;  night  and  day  I'm  afraid  some  one  will 
steal  my  ideas.  If  I  could  only  get  a  good  part  in  New 
York  and  show  people  just  once  what  I  could  do,  there  'd 
be  plenty  of  managers  ready  to  back  me  in  my  play 
afterward ! ' ' 

Fred  yawned.  "Stella,"  said  he,  "when  you  do  get 
an  engagement,  you  quarrel  with  the  stage-manager  and 
come  home." 

Estella  planted  her  elbows  on  the  table.  "That's  be- 
cause they've  got  such  old  fuss-budgets  of  stage-man- 
agers. I  guess  after  I've  sat  up  all  night,  wearing  my- 
self to  pieces  studying  my  art,  I'm  not  going  to  be  dic- 
tated to  by  those  ignorant  things.  It  was  mean  of  that 
old  Dawkins-,  though,  to  fight  with  me,  when  I  'd  had  my 
pink  crepe  dress  made  for  their  old  piece,  and  I  hadn't 
even  got  it  paid  for  yet.  Wasn't  that1  a  sweet  dress, 
Kate?  I  wore  my  real  coral  and  gold  belt  with  it,  that 
Tommy  gave  me  while  we  were  married.  He  always 
said  he  did  like  me  to  look  nice,  Tommy  did.  I've  got 
plenty  of  clothes  to  take  an  engagement,  if  I  could  only 
get  one.  I  wish  the  dogs  hadn't  broken  Whopper,  and 


16  MERELY  PLAYERS 

I'd  ask  her  when  we  any  of  us  were  going  to  get  any- 
thing." 

"We  always  ask  her  that,  and  she  always  lies.  We'd 
better  ask  her  when  the  alimony 's  coming. ' ' 

Estella  looked  at  the  pieces  of  the  broken  planchette 
which  were  scattered  over  the  floor.  "They  looked  so 
cunning  breaking  it  up — and  Tony  would  name  her 
that, ' '  she  added,  with  apparent  irrelevance.  ' '  Hand  me 
the  cards,  Fred,  and  let  me  see  if  I  can  see  anything. ' ' 

As  she  shuffled  the  pack,  her  mind  went  back  to  the 
pink  crepe. 

"If  she  likes  to  fix  it  over,  I'll  let  Barbara  wear  that 
dress  to  Helen  Graham's  Sunday  night,  and  I  can  take 
her  blue  waist ;  you  know,  Kate,  that  one  you  made  out 
of  the  old  pair  of  sleeves. ' ' 

She  looked  cordially  at  Barbara,  but  the  girl  did  not 
answer  nor  turn  her  head. 

' '  She 's  dreaming, ' '  said  Fred.  ' '  Love 's  young  dream, 
Barbara  ?  Estella,  do  you  see  a  dark  man  ? ' ' 

"Let  her  be,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Donnelly;  "maybe  she  is 
really  thinking  about  Tony." 

"You  make  me  tired,  Kate!"  said  the  fraternal  Fred. 
"You  bet  Tony  can  do  his  own  love-making.  You  bet 
he  can  look  after  himself.  I  wonder,"  he  added  in  a 
half -voice,  "if  she  says  things  to  him,  though,  when 
they're  alone.  He  keeps  on  so." 

"You  never  can  tell,"  Estella  sighed. 

"She  might  be  very  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  him!" 
Mrs.  Donnelly  almost  cried  aloud. 

"I  guess  my  sister  doesn't  need  to  be  glad  of  any- 
body, Kate  Donnelly,  and  he's  very  unsettled  and  ex- 
travagant; I've  always  heard  so." 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  17 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Fred,  getting  in  ahead  of  his  sister- 
in-law.  "What  of  it?  He's  only  a  boy,  and  most  of 
the  year  he's  more  money  than  he  knows  what  to  do 
with.  I  don't  know  why  it  should  be  worse  for  him 
to  throw  gold  dollars  around  than  for  anybody  else  to 
do  it." 

"Slander  loves  a  shining  mark,"  said  Mrs.  Donnelly 
sententiously. 

Fred  laughed.  "Well,  there's  nothing  so  very  shining 
about  Tony,  except  a  first-class  job  with  the  great  Engle 
in  the  fall.  But,  of  course,  he's  lucky  to  have  that,  at 
his  age;  and  I  daresay  it's  his  luck  and  his  good  looks 
and  those  kid  ways  of  his  starts  those  notions.  He's 
really  a  corking  fellow,  Tony  is,  and  straight,  as  far  as 
I  know.  But  if  he  buys  a  girl  a  pair  of  gloves — and  I 
don't  say  he  doesn't  like  a  pretty  girl — there's  as  much 
cackle  as  if  another  man  had  bought  her  Fifth  Avenue. 
And  he's  too  easy-tempered;  he  lets  stories,  get  around 
about  him,  things  that  matter.  Look  at  that  old  gander 
last  week  at  Reilly's — said  it  was  Mrs.  Rexal  who  got 
him  that  part  with  Rexal,  and — you  know  what  people 
say." 

"Oh!"  said  Barbara,  "it's  all  cowardly.  It's  a  lie." 
("Why,  she's  awake  after  all,"  laughed  Fred.)  She 
turned  in  upon  them  from  the  window,  and  her  live 
voice  broke  into  the  room  with  its  curious,  little  throaty 
richness.  "I — I  don't  deceive  myself  about  Tony.  I 
daresay  he 's  wild,  I  daresay  he 's  unreliable,  but  we  must 
all  know  that  he  was  never — base."  Her  face  flushed 
and  paled,  her  hands  clinched*  in  her  lap.  "We're  un- 
steady and  extravagant  ourselves,  Estella,  and  what 
we  have  done  this  summer,  who  would  have  given 
2 


18  MERELY  PLAYERS 

us  any  pleasure,  who  would  have  helped  us,  who  would 
have  worked  for  us,  what  should  we  have  done  here,  with- 
out Tony?  I  remember  all  the  time,  even  if  we're  only 
a  caprice  of  his,  even  if  he  doesn't  mean  a  word  he 
says,  we  are  his  debtors  a  thousand,  thousand  times ! ' ' 

The  hall  door  opened,  and  they  heard  Tony  banging 
the  bucket  and  whistling  "My  girl's  a  high-born  lady," 
as  he  went  into  his  own  room. 

"My  dear!  my  dear!"  Estella  warned  her. 

"That's  right,  Barbara,"  said  Fred.  "I  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  didn't  think  you  had  so  much  sense.  There's 
nothing  the  matter  with  Tony  except  a  first-class  appetite 
for  being  happy.  Look  at  him  all  this  summer — till  his 
next  season 's  manager  puts  a  stop  to  it — goes  and  makes 
a  darned  jockey  of  himself,  for  ten  dollars  a  week,  riding 
their  plug  steeplechasers  in  a  backwoods  melodrama. 
Does  anybody  say  a  word  for  him  about  that  ?  Why,  no. 
You  'd  think  they  all  did  it !  But  he  went  to  dinner  at 
the  Waldorf  last  night  with  a  fellow  I  know  that  had 
made  some  money  at  Brighton,  and  a  couple  of  girls, 
and  I'll  bet  you  everybody  on  Broadway's  talking  about 
it." 

' '  At  the  Waldorf  ?  Is  that  where  he  was  ? "  cried  Bar- 
bara. "Last  night ! ' '  She  leaned  forward  and  stared  at 
Fred  intently.  Something  in  her  accent  recalled  to  the 
assemblage  their  own  last  night's  dinner;  the  little,  hot, 
untidy  dining-room,  and  the  scramble  in  getting  the 
dishes  washed  up,  and  the  fact  that  the  ice  had  given  out. 
Only  Estella  remembered  for  the  first  time  that  Barbara 
had  dressed  her  hair  elaborately  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
had  tried  to  press  out  her  white  lace  waist,  and  had 
scorched  it.  She  remembered  in  the  same  flash  that  the 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  19 

morning  before,  Tony  had  praised  the  stately  habit 
of  dressing  for  dinner.  She  pushed  away  the  cards, 
and  in  her  turn  looked  at  Barbara,  as  Barbara  was 
looking  at  Fred. 

"Was  that  where  he  was?"  said  the  girl  again. 

"I'm  sure  he  had  every  right  to  be!"  cried  Kate. 

"I'm  sure  we  should  be  the  last  to  question  that 
right,"  Barbara  said. 

"  'Feathered  like  a  peacock,  just  as  gay,'  "  sang 
Tony 's  whistle,  clipped  suddenly  by  the  sound  of  splash- 
ing water. 

"That  boy's  got  his  head  under  the  faucet  again!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Donnelly.  "He'll  give  himself  neu- 
ralgia. ' ' 

"Why,  Barbara!"  Estella  cried;  "yesterday  was — " 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  moved  her  hands  helplessly  in  her  lap, 
"I  was  twenty  yesterday." 

"Oh,  dearie!     I'm  so  sorry!     I  never  thought  of  it." 

' '  Tony  never  knew  of  it, ' '  said  Kate. 

"Why,  no,"  Barbara  replied;  "why  should  he?" 

' '  Here  he  comes  now, ' '  said  Fred. 

He  came  in  as  radiant  with  idleness  as  he  had  lately 
been  with  work,  and  very  fresh  from  his  encounter  with 
the  faucet,  whose  drops  were  still  shining,  bright  and 
cold,  in  his  black  hair.  There  was  what  Estella  called 
a  divan  at  one  side  of  the  room ;  Tony  composed  himself 
upon  its  cushions  with  a  fan  and  a  glass  of  lemonade, 
and  lounged  there,  staring  at  the  ceiling  like  a  contented 
child.  He  found  a  considerable  diversion  in  teaching 
himself  to  drink  without  changing  his  attitude  and, 
while  he  was  acquiring  this  art,  the  talk  tried  to  jerk 
itself  past  his  interruption.  Everybody  had  been  a  lit- 


20  MERELY  PLAYERS 

tie  startled  by  Barbara's  outbreak,  everybody  felt  that 
Fred  would  better  have  kept  his  knowledge  to  himself, 
and  a  little  uneasy  bewilderment,  as  at  a  treachery  to 
Tony,  shadowed  more  lively  interests  and  quieted  the 
loud  talk.  They  looked  rather  gravely  at  the  profile 
view  which  was  once  more  accorded  them  of  Barbara's 
head. 

"What's  the  matter,  Estella?"  asked  Tony,  glancing 
at  the  newspapers.  "Aren't  there  any  murders?"  At 
the  continued  silence  he  lifted  his  head.  "Hello! 
What's  the  scandal?" 

"You  are!"  said  Estella.  "The  idea  of  you  being 
around  here,  anyhow,  and  me  with  a  sister  that's  just 
twenty!" 

"There  has  to  be  somebody  to  watch  Fred,"  said  Tony. 

"It's  Fred's  been  giving  you  away.  Oh,  he  didn't 
mean  to !  But  he  says  you  throw  your  money  around. ' ' 

"He  wants  to  show  you  what  a  beautiful  nature  I 
have,"  said  the  accused.  He  looked  lovingly  at  Fred, 
because  he  had  black  murder  in  his  heart.  He  looked 
with  anxious  stealth  at  Barbara,  but  Barbara  seemed  not 
to  notice. 

"He  says  people  say  things  about  you,"  Estella  con- 
tinued. 

"Slander  loves  a  shining  mark,"  repeated  Mrs.  Don- 
nelly, with  solemn  emphasis. 

"Nice  Kate!"  said  Tony.  He  went  and  sat  down  on 
the  floor  by  her  chair,  and  stroked  her  hand.  "Good 
Kate!  Pretty  Kate!" 

"I'm  sure,"  continued  Mrs.  Donnelly,  pretending  to 
push  him  off,  "nobody  could  be  a  better  boy  around 
the  house  than  he  is.  Could  they,  now  could  they?  I 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  21 

bet  you'd  all  want  him  back,  fast  enough,  if  he  went 
away!  I've  known  him  since  he  was  no  bigger  than 
that,"  measuring  about  the  height  of  a  footstool,  "and 
never  saw  a  cross  word  come  out  of  his  mouth,  and  I  can 
tell  you,  if  this  never  having  a  cent  is  hard  on  us, 
he's  had  more  money  to  throw  away  when  he  was  a 
child  on  a  rocking-horse  than  would  pay  this  miser- 
able old  rent  time  and  again,  and  not  a  complaint  out 
of  him." 

"Good  Tony!"  said  that  gentleman.  He  added  in  a 
tone  of  profound  conviction,  ' '  Noble  Tony ! ' ' 

Estella  studied  him  with  her  chin  in  her  hand. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "you're  a  very  sweet  boy.  But — 
you're  Irish." 

"I  once  had  a  father,  Mrs.  Baker,  and  he  was  French." 

"Well,  goodness,  that  only  makes  it  worse!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Tony  drowsily,  "where  French  and 
Irish  meet,  and  make  a  mixture  that  is  not  discreet. 
That's  for  you,  Barbara,  who  love  the  poets!"  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  sadly  at  his  hostess.  "It's 
inelegant  to  display  such  a  prejudice  against  the  for- 
eign, dear  Estella." 

"I  hope  you've  written  those  new  verses  to  Gus 
Nevins'  song,  since  you're  so  smart;  Barbara  won't  have 
time  to  learn  them  for  Sunday  night,  Tony  Regnault, 
if  you've  put  them  off  again,  and  she  won't  sing  the  old 
ones.  Mr.  Nevins 's  going  to  be  there  to  hear  her,  Sun- 
day, and  he's  going  to  sing,  himself." 

' '  Dear  me,  how  unnecessary  of  him ! ' '  said  Tony.  He 
went  back  to  the  couch  where  his  banjo  lay,  and  began 
to  touch  an  air  upon  it  as  he  spoke  the  lines.  Certainly, 
he  looked  at  Barbara. 


22  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"  The  sleeping  princess  quiet  lay 
And  dreamed  the  empty  years  away, 

Her  love  delayed; 

And  princes  came  and  princes  went, 
And   mighty  kings   magnificent 
As  they  above  her  beauty  bent 

Were  all  afraid,  afraid. 

"And  no  man  knew  what  word  would  wake, 
Nor  for  what  fortune's  golden  sake, 

Or  deed  of  love, 

That  shining  princess  would  arise, 
Unveil  the  kindness  of  her  eyes, 
And  stretch  the  hand  that  he  would  prize 
All  worlds  above,  above. 

"  A  beggar  at  the  palace  gate 
Had  a  light  heart  to  tempt  his  fate 

And  entered  in; 

He  wished  no  other  joy  but  this, 
And  this  for  death  he  would  not  miss; 
He  touched  her  sweet  mouth  with  a  kiss  — • 

She  waked  for  him,  for  him!  " 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Donnelly,  "isn't  that  lovely!" 

"That  last  line  doesn't  rhyme,  Tony,"  said  Estella, 
with  severity. 

"Will  you  sing  it,  Barbara?"  Tony  asked. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "It  is  very  charming.  You 
were  very  kind  to  write  it.  But  I  don't  think  I  shall 
sing  it.  I  don't  think  I  shall  sing  at  all." 

Said  Tony:  "That  pink  thing  you  have  on  is  very 
becoming  to  you,  my  own. ' ' 

"You  mustn't  call  Barbara  that,  Tony!"  cried  Es- 
tella. "It  doesn't  sound  well.  I  can't  have  it." 

"Not  even  when  it  isn't  true?"  Tony  pleaded.     "Not 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  23 

even  to  please  Barbara?  If  you'll  move  over  a  little, 
Barbara,  I  '11  sit  by  you  a  minute. ' '  He  secured  to  him- 
self a  part  of  the  window  seat,  and  remained  there, 
swinging  his  heels  and  playing  "Daisy"  on  the  banjo. 
Barbara's  slim  young  stateliness,  aided  by  her  trailing 
skirts,  made  her  look  almost  as  tall  as  he,  and  far  more 
resolute.  She  seemed  to  him,  as  he  studied  her  out  of 
the  corner  of  an  eye,  to  be  very  pale  and  very  tragically 
sweet. 

"I'm  glad,  Estella,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  begin- 
ning to  awaken  to  a  sense  of  your  responsibilities  about 
us.  We  shall  be  almost  grown  up  in  a  minute.  'These 
pretty  babes  went  hand  in  hand!' — you  remember  what 
happened  to  their  wicked  guardian,  Mrs.  Baker,  after 
the  robin-redbreasts  had  covered  them  with  leaves?  I 
am  afraid  Barbara  would  be  rather  long  for  robin-red- 
breasts ;  she  would  keep  them  busy. ' ' 

Estella  smiled  disdainfully.  "You  look  like  a  yard 
of  pump-water,  the  both  of  you, ' '  said  she. 

"The  each  of  us,  Estella.  And  it's  still  incorrect  to 
be  cross  with  my  physique — Napoleon  was  once  slender. 
Barbara's,  to  be  sure,"  lifting  Barbara's  lovely  wrist 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  critically  regarding 
it — "Barbara's,  to  be  sure,  is  no  great  shakes." 

She  did  not  smile,  she  did  not  even  withdraw  her 
hand.  Tony  laid  it  carefully  in  her  lap.  "Cheer  up, 
Anny  Bobs ! "  he  whispered. 

At  this  moment  the  entire  apartment  was  filled  with 
the  roar  of  Regina  's  rage.  ' '  Mahmu  a  my  nicky-Mahmu 
a  my  nicky." 

"What?"  said  everyone;  "what  is  it?" 

"Mahmu  a  my  nicky!     A  my  nicky!    Bah  Mahmu!" 


24  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Fred  was  stooping  over  Regina.  "Mohammed  ate  my 
nickel,"  lie  translated.  Mohammed  was  the  older  ter- 
rier. 

"A  my  nieky,"  assented  Regina. 

"Ate  her  nickel?  Heavens,  swallowed  it?  It'll  kill 
him!"  Estella  fell  on  her  knees  and  glared  down  the 
throat  of  Mohammed,  who  wagged  his  tail  feebly.  "Bah 
Mahmu!"  cried  Regina,  beating  the  air  and  howling 
lustily.  "Amynicky!  Mahmu  a  my  nicky!" 

"Do  you  think  it'll  kill  him?"  persisted  Estella; 
"was  Stella's  old  boy?  Did  want  doctor?" 

""Wa  my  nicky!"  entreated  Regina. 

"It  seems  to  me  extremely  forehanded  of  him,"  said 
Tony  to  Regina.  "You  know  you  nearly  ate  it  your- 
self." 

Regina  stopped  crying  and  stared  at  him.  She  began 
slowly  to  smile  and  dimple,  and  presently  extended  a 
hand.  "Nicky,"  said  she. 

Tony  laid  a  copper  on  her  palm.  "Penny,"  he  said; 
"not  nicky.  Nough." 

Regina  went  over  to  Estella  and  pulled  her  arm. 
"Mah-ma,  nicky." 

Estella  closed  Mohammed's  mouth  with  her  fingers 
and  kissed  his  nose.  "Him  eat  nickels?"  she  inquired. 
"No,  I  haven't  got  another  nickel  for  you,  Regina,  I 
haven't  got — Oh,  don't  cry.  Here,  you  can  have  my 
pearl  heart.  And  here,"  reaching  for  a  clean  napkin 
and  a  blue  pencil  from  a  crowded  trunk-lid  at  her  back, 
"we'll  make  rag-dolly,  shall  we?" 

Tony  leaped  upon  her,  and  wrenched  the  napkin  from 
her  grasp.  "I  would  never  wish  to  interfere  with  any 
of  your  little  diversions,  Estella, ' '  said  he,  returning  in 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  25 

triumph  to  his  seat,  "but  it  is  I  who  wash  the  linen." 

"Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord!"  yawned  Fred. 
' '  What  a  deadly  drag  it  is !  I  wonder  shall  I  ever  work 
again?" 

"I  wonder,"  said  Estella,  "why  it's  always  us  who 
can't  get  parts?  We  can  all  act." 

"Well,"  said  Fred,  "we  could  if  we  were  let.  But 
the  question  now  is — Mr.  Bates  told  Barbara  he'd  be 
here,  after  that  blamed  rent,  at  three  o'clock,  and  it's 
about  that  now ;  what  are  we  going  to  tell  him  ? ' ' 

"If  I  could  only  get  a  backer  for  my  play — "  began 
Estella.  "Oh,  I  do  wish  you'd  stop  fooling  with  that 
banjo,  Tony,  you  put  me  out  so ! " 

"Say,  look  here,  Tony!"  cried  Fred,  "since  you've  got 
a  job  coming  to  you — I  know  it  isn't  the  proper  thing, 
but — couldn't  you  get  something  in  advance  from  your 
management  ? ' ' 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Donnelly,  "and  start  out  in  debt 
and  be  all  the  season  getting  even ! ' ' 

Tony  looked  hopefully  at  Barbara,  but  Barbara 
positively  frowned. 

"Unh-unh!"  said  Tony,  shaking  his  head  at  Fred. 
"Nev-er  bor-row  from  the  man-age-ment.  If — you — do, 
— you'll — never  save  a  cent" — he  struck  a  discreet  tinkle 
from  the  banjo,  and  added:  "In — the — mean-time,  who 
will  pay  the  rent?" 

Without  turning  her  head  round  to  the  company, 
Barbara  said;  "I  daresay  we  shan't  have  to  pay  the 
rent  at  all,  if  I  marry  Mr.  Bates. ' ' 

They  were  too  surprised  to  speak,  but  as  they  grad- 
ually recovered  their  breath  they  turned  and  stared  at 
her;  all  but  Tony,  who  went  on  touching  the  banjo 


26  MERELY  PLAYERS 

and  looking  at  it  carefully.  Estella  leaned  forward 
and  knocked  on  the  table  with  the  handle  of  the  butter- 
knife. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  she  said. 

Barbara  put  up  one  hand  and  smoothed  her  back  hair 
with  deliberate  fingers.  "When  I  went  into  the  hall 
this  morning  to  see  if  I  couldn't  inveigle  him  to  go 
away" — Tony  lifted  his  head  quickly  and  angrily,  and 
frowned  from  Barbara  to  Estella — "as  I  was  asked 
to  do,"  Barbara  continued,  "he  asked  me  if  I  would 
marry  him.  Or  rather  he  asked  me  to  think  about  it. 
He's  coming  back  at  three  to — to  help  us  think  about  it. 
He  wants  to  speak  to  you,  Estella. ' ' 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
it!"  Estella  cried.  "And  you  needn't  frown  at  me, 
Tony  Regnault,  for  I  was  taking  the  curling-irons  out 
of  the  gas-range  that  very  minute,  or  I  would  have 
gone  out  to  him  myself.  Nobody  shall  ever  say  I  forced 
her  into  it.  I  wouldn't  wreck  the  life  of  my  own  sister, 
not  if  he  was  to  pay  me  for  it  in  diamonds !  But  God 
knows,  Tony,  what's  to  become  of  her,  the  way 
things  are;  for  even  if  ever  she  can  make  up  her  mind 
and  marry  you,  you're  all  alike,  you  actors;  I  wouldn't 
trust  a  girl's  heart  to  the  best  of  you,  though  it's  true 
'Jim  Folso  did  take  care  of  his  mother  till  the  day  she 
died — I  know  that  myself — sent  her  ten  dollars  a  week 
year  out  and  in;  he's  had  to  borrow  it  from  Tommy, 
many  a  time.  No,  sir,  she'll  have  to  decide  it  for  her 
own  self,  Barbara  will." 

And  at  this  moment,  as  though  by  special  arrange- 
ment with  a  dramatic  deity,  there  was  a  ring  at  the  front 
door. 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  27 

"It  needn't  be  he,  you  know,"  said  Estella,  confront- 
ing a  circle  of  stricken  faces. 

But  it  was  he.  Fred  went  to  the  door,  and  ushered 
in  a  large,  plump,  blond  gentleman  in  the  elder  middle 
years.  He  had  his  coat  on  his  arm  and  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  he  was  mopping  his  face  and  forehead  with 
a  huge  clean  handkerchief. 

"Good-day,  all,"  said  he.  "No,  don't  trouble  your- 
self for  me,  ma'am,"  to  Estella,  who  had  risen,  mute 
and  regal,  and  was  schooling  herself  to  the  manner  of  a 
dowager  empress.  He  accepted  a  chair,  however,  and 
looked  around  with  simple  confidence  upon  the  company. 
"It  is  hot !  When  you  come  to  my  time  of  life,  you  feel 
the  stairs." 

"You'll  have  a  glass  of  lemonade,  Mr.  Bates,"  said 
Tony.  He  had  brought  a  glassful  and  his  own  fan  to  the 
landlord,  and  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  as  the 
glass  changed  hands. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Bates,  "I  don't  object." 

An  embarrassed  silence  followed  these  civilities. 
Tony  had  cuddled  on  to  the  couch  again  with  his  in- 
evitable banjo,  and  the  terriers  had  come  forward  and 
were  sniffing  at  Mr.  Bates 's  legs.  Dooley  drew  back 
suddenly  and  showed  his  teeth;  Mohammed  instantly 
broke  into  a  volley  of  shrill  yelps. 

"Knows  I'm  the  landlord,"  tactfully  remarked  Mr. 
Bates,  setting  down  his  glass  and  smiling  jovially  around. 
He  snapped  his  fingers  at  Dooley,  "Nice  boy,  good  fel- 
low." The  dogs  thrust  their  bodies  back  and  their 
heads  forward  and  continued  to  grumble  and  to  growl. 
"Well,  I  guess  from  what  Miss  Barbara  told  me  this 
morning,  you  didn't  want  to  see  me  to-day." 


28  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"I'll  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Bates,"  said  Estella. 
"My  allowance  hasn't  come  yet.  God  is  my  witness,  I 
expected  it  the  day  before  yesterday.  Though  why  I 
should  expect  it  from  a  man  that  forsakes  his  own  child, 
and  that  I  never  would  have  married  if  I  hadn't  been 
infatuated  with  him — a  girl's  infatuation,  Mr.  Bates, 
you  know  what  that  is — I  don't  know.  But  I  was  so 
sure  it  would  come  to-day,  while  that  lace  sale  was  on 
at  Siegel  &  Cooper's  I  thought  of  dressing  to  be  ready 
right  after  lunch — didn't  I,  Barbara?  But  it  hasn't 
come.  I'm  sure  you're  the  last  man,  Mr.  Bates,  that 
would  want  me  to  take  the  bread  out  of  my  child's 
mouth. ' ' 

"Must  be  a  pretty  mean  man,"  said  Mr.  Bates;  "won't 
send  money  to  keep  his  own  little  girl.  But  you  know, 
Mrs.  Baker,  I  know  people  talk,  especially  the  Irish,  but 
owners  have  to  make  their  property  pay,  someways. ' ' 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Estella,  "after  all,  this  isn't  a  flat 
you  could  really  expect  much  rent  for.  If  I'd  had  my 
money  this  month,  there 's  a  lot  of  things  I  'd  have  spoken 
to  you  about.  We  haven't  any  awnings,  for  one  thing, 
and  it  makes  the  place  like  a  bake-oven,  and  it  makes  it 
look  like  a  tenement ;  though,  for  that  matter,  there  isn  't 
a  tenement  but  what  has  awnings.  And  that  woman  in 
the  flat  over  us,  you'll  have  to  speak  to  her.  She  says 
insulting  things  about  my  dogs,  down  the  airshaft.  Yes, 
she  does ;  she  means  to  insult  me,  because  I  told  her  she 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  let  her  parrot  use  such  language. 
I  couldn't  let  Regina  listen  to  it,  Mr.  Bates,  indeed  I 
couldn't.  And  the  storeroom  leaks,  or  a  pipe's  burst 
in  it,  or  something,  and  I  shan't  pay  my  rent  at  all  if 
my  Saratoga  trunk  is -damaged,  for  there's  a  lot  of  ward- 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  29 

robe  in  it,  and  things  no  money  could  replace.  My  white 
satin — I  only  wore  it  two  weeks — is  in  there,  and  my 
husband's  miniature's  in  that  trunk.  I  shouldn't  like 
to  see  that  damaged." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Bates,  heartlessly  putting  the 
miniature  of  Mr.  Baker  to  one  side :  "I  guess  you  know 
it  isn  't  altogether  about  the  rent  I  came.  I  guess  maybe 
Miss  Barbara's  told  you  about  what  I  said  to  her  this 
morning.  No,  ma'am,  no,  gent 'men,  don't  go.  I  know 
it's  not  the  usual  thing,  but  you've  always  seemed  sort 
of  like  a  family  here,  and  I  know  you'll  all  talk  about 
it  when  I'm  gone,  so  might's  well  have  it  now.  And 
I'm  counting  that  maybe  you'll  kind  of  help  me  out. 
I'm  not  supposing" — he  turned  a  pair  of  patient  eyes 
on  Barbara,  and  the  tame,  kindly  lovingness  in  them 
seemed  at  once  to  shield  and  to  caress  her — "I'm  not 
supposing  Miss  Barbara's  what's  called  in  love  with  me. 
'Twouldn't  be  natural.  But  I  think  she  might  like  me 
if  she  came  to  know  me  and  gave  me  a  fair  show.  Es- 
pecially when  she  knows  more  o '  the  way  people  get  along 
than  she  does  now ;  she  'd  see  how  different  I  'd  treat  her 
from  the  way  a  lot  of  men  do  that  have  got  wives  and 
don't  know  how  to  use  'em.  I  always  thought  this  was 
a  kind  of  a  rough  world  for  women,  and  I'd  like  to  do 
what's  really  right  by  one  of  them." 

Nobody  answered,  but  Tony  lifted  a  long  grave  look 
to  his. 

"And  so  I  thought,"  continued  Mr.  Bates,  "that  some 
of  you  who  haven't  such  fancy  ideas  as  it's  natural 
enough  she's  got,  would  speak  to  her,  and  tell  her  that 
if — if  you  don't  see  something  as  pretty  as  you'd  like, 
it's  best  to  take  something  that's  all  wool." 


30  MERELY  PLAYERS 

He  was  greatly  pleased  at  this  flower  of  speech,  and 
looked  up  quickly  and  brightly  at  Barbara,  and  Barbara 
smiled.  She  had  a  slow  smile  of  infinite  possibilities, 
and  Mr.  Bates  looked  at  it  a  little  before  he  proceeded : 
' '  I  've  got  money ;  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand,  one  way 
and  another,  and  more  making — and  I've  got  health  and 
good  habits,  and  the  store  I  set  by  her,  you  wouldn't  be- 
lieve it.  Well,  I  guess  she's  kind  of  notiony  and  high- 
spirited,  and  I  don't  seem  much  to  her,  but  I'm  relying 
you'll  tell  her  those  are  things  make  life  comfortable 
and  worth  having  just  the  same;  and  I  should  think 
you,  Mrs.  Baker,  that's  had  your  own  troubles  in 
your  time,  would  feel  kind  o'  scared  to  have  anything 
so  pretty  and  so  kind  of  high-headed  and  proud,  around 
like  this." 

"God  is  my  witness,  Mr.  Bates — "  began  Estella  lean- 
ing forward. 

"Not,"  hurriedly  continued  the  suitor,  "not  as  I've 
got  anything  to  say  against  your  profession.  Those  that 
like  it — why,  let  'em,  I  say.  But  it  ain't  the  life  for  a 
woman,  is  it  ?  Now,  is  it  ?  Nor,  I  shouldn  't  think  my- 
self, for  a  man  either.  I  don't  mean  any  disrespect, 
but  it  does  seem  to  me  a  lady  like  Miss  Barbara's  got 
something  more  coming  to  her  than  this,  and  what's 
more,"  he  added,  meditatively,  "it  seems  like  it  don't 
pay." 

Tony,  who  was  leaning  on  his  knees  with  his  chin  in 
his  hands,  lifted  his  guileless  eyes,  and  said  sweetly; 
"It's  only  fair  to  the  profession,  Mr.  Bates,  to  tell  you 
that  we  are  not  its  most  victorious  exponents. ' ' 

' '  Likely,  likely, ' '  admitted  Mr.  Bates,  a  little  mystified. 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  31 

"But  we  can  keep  a  woman  out  of  it,  Mr.  Reeno,  and 
take  her  clean  away  from  all  this  stage  business." 

"You  don't  think,"  inquired  Tony — this  was  the  only 
base  advantage  Tony  took — "you  don't  think  she  ought 
to  have  anything  to  say  about  it,  herself — the  being 
taken  clean  away  from  all  this  stage  business?" 

"Not  when  she's  got  a  man  to  look  after  her,"  said 
Mr.  Bates,  "and  give  her  a  comfortable  home." 

"  Oh ! "  admitted  Tony,  and  confided  a  twinkle  to  the 
flooring. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Estella,  "it's  a  very  great 
responsibility  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  to  urge  you. 
But  if  I'd  married  Mr.  Fettercamp  when  he  wanted  me 
to,  we'd  all  be  rolling  in  our  own  carriages  this  minute. 
There  was  his  sister  married  an  Italian  prince,  and  she 
wasn't  a  circumstance  to  Barbara.  She's  dead,  now, 
poor  girl,  but  she  married  him.  But,  no,  I  would  have 
Tommy  Baker  because  I  loved  him — indeed,  I  did,  Bar- 
bara Floyd,  I  loved  him  madly — but  there's  no  use  mar- 
rying for  love  when  you  can't  even  be  sure  he'll  send 
you  your  alimony  right.  And  because  I  wrecked  my 
life,  Barbara,  I'd  like  to  see  you  marry  somebody 
worthy.  I'd  say  the  same  if  it  was  Regina.  Regina — 
Regina  Baker,  don 't  you  put  that  penny  in  your  mouth. 
Come  here — come  here  to  mamma." 

Regina  advanced  slowly,  and  Estella  gathered  the  curls 
out  of  her  warm  little  neck  and  hastily  polished  off  her 
face  with  a  handkerchief.  ' '  Don 't  you  know  Mr.  Bates, 
darling?  What  do  nice  little  girls  say  to  gentlemen?" 

Regina  ducked  her  head,  made  an  unintelligible  sound 
and  extended  her  hand. 


32  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"How-de-do,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Bates,  shaking  the  hand. 
"  I  'm  sorry  I  didn  't  think  to  bring  you  some  candy.  Bet- 
ter luck  next  time,  eh?  Why,  why,  you  mustn't  begin 
to  cry,  little  girl.  Don't  you  want  to  be  friends  with 
me!"  Regina  nodded.  "Don't  you  want  to  grow  up 
and  have  a  pony  to  ride,  and  learn  the  piano?" 

"Awn  go  finey  aws,"  said  Regina. 

' '  She  wants  to  go  on  the  flying  horses, ' '  translated  the 
patient  Fred.  "Merry-go-round,  you  know." 

"And  so  she  shall!"  assented  Mr.  Bates. 

Regina  glowed  with  joy.     "An  Anny  Bobs?" 

"And  Auntie  Barbara?"  Mr.  Bates  repeated  after 
Fred,  "why  yes,  indeed." 

Regina,  in  a  kind  of  vacuous  triumph,  smiled  around 
the  room  and  had  an  inspiration.  ' '  An  Tony  ? ' ' 

"Why,"  responded  Mr.  Bates  hesitatingly,  "maybe 
he  wouldn't  want  to." 

A  perfect  torrent  of  joyous  sounds,  intended  to  be 
affirmative,  burst  from  Regina 's  lips.  In  the  vigor  of 
her  confidence  she  flung  herself  upon  the  legs  of  Mr. 
Bates  and  beat  his  knees.  ' '  Oh,  yef !  As  time,  as  time, 
aw  lone,  Rina  an  Anny  Bobs  and  Tony  go  finey  aws, 
go  roun  an  roun  an  roun,  an  Tony  caw  go  ring!" 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  thickness  in  the  voice  of  the 
translator:  "Once,  last  time,  nobody  else  happened  to 
be  there.  Tony  and  Barbara  rode,  too,  and  Tony  caught 
the  gold  ring;  you  know,  with  those  little  blunt 
swords. ' ' 

"Why,  he's  a  very  clever  young  man,"  Mr.  Bates  af- 
fably replied. 

Regina  smote  his  knees  and  shrieked  with  joy.  "Oh, 
yef!"  she  repeated,  "an  Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring." 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  33 

"You  said  it  was  Mr.  Tony  caught  the  gold  ring,  little 
girl." 

' '  That 's  what  she  means  to  say, ' '  said  Fred. 

"No!  no!"  Regina  passionately  insisted. 

"Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring!  Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring 
now!  Rina  fine  it." 

"Well,  well,  Regina,"  Estella  interrupted,  "Mr.  Bates 
can 't  talk  to  you  all  day ! ' ' 

"I  paid  it  her  as  a  reward  of  merit.  I  assure  you, 
I  gave  the  man  a  dime  for  it,"  said  Tony,  softly,  with  a 
little  blush. 

Mr.  Bates  passed  over  the  insignificance  of  Tony's 
shabby  boyhood  with  the  good  temper  of  a  potentate. 
"Well,"  said  he,  giving  his  face  a  final  wipe,  "I  guess 
I've  said  what  I  laid  out  to.  I  didn't  come  here  to  talk 
soft.  That  part  of  it's  just  my  business,  and  hers — 
if  she  '11  have  it. ' '  He  got  up  and  took  his  hat  and  went 
over  to  Barbara.  ' '  Miss  Barbara, ' '  he  said,  ' '  if  you  can 
make  out  to  like  me — like  me  well  enough  to  have  me 
— you'll  never  regret  it."  He  held  out  his  hand,  and 
Barbara  gave  him  hers  with  her  long  boyish  clasp. 
Kate  followed  him  to  the  door  and  let  him  out. 

An  unpleasant  silence  settled  upon  the  company.  Its 
members  were  suddenly  set  face  to  face  with  decision 
and  responsibility;  they  were  crowded  and  jostled  and 
made  to  feel  strange  and  ill  at  ease,  here,  in  the  dilap- 
idated cheer  of  their  own  home,  by  the  encroaching  wis- 
dom of  other  worlds.  Barbara  continued  to  sit  idly  in 
the  blinding  sunshine,  like  a  person  passive  before  the 
issue  of  events  and  indifferent  to  it.  The  fierce  light 
seemed  to  set  her  apart  from  counsel  and  from  tenderness 
and  to  blare  aloud  her  beauty. 


34  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Estella,  after  two  or  three  clearings  of  her  throat,  in- 
quired with  a  kind  of  trembling  pomp :  "And  what  do 
you  think  about  it  yourself,  my  dear?" 

Barbara  rose  and  came  slowly  to  the  table.  She  stood 
stroking  the  edge  of  it  with  her  hand,  and  finally  she 
said:  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  think.  I  think  that  if  I 
were  married  to  Mr.  Bates,  I  shouldn't  have  to  run  out 
into  the  hall  to  ogle  landlords  to  cheat  them  out  of  their 
rent.  I  think  I  shouldn't  have  to  pretend  to  be  out 
when  the  milkman  comes,  nor  wheedle  the  butcher,  nor 
have  the  gas  turned  off.  I  shouldn  't  have  to  walk  out  of 
a  hateful  mess  like  this" — Estella  gasped — "dressed  as 
if  I  were  going  to  a  beauty  show,  because  I  wanted  work, 
and  into  offices  where  I  should  be  looked  over  as  if  I 
were  a  horse.  I  think  I  shouldn't  owe  every  stitch  I 
wear  and  everything  I  put  into  my  mouth  to  my  sister's 
divorced  husband.  That's  what  I  think.  I  think  I 
should  be  looked  out  for  and  taken  care  of  and  kept 
away  from  hurt,  as  other  women  are ! ' ' 

Estella  began:    "Well,  of  all  the—" 

"And  I  think,"  continued  Barbara,  her  voice  rising 
to  a  hysteric  pitch,  "that  my  husband  would  be  re- 
spected everywhere,  and  would  work  for  me  and  be  true 
and  good,  and  not  depend  for  his  pleasure  upon  a 
friend's  getting  some  money,  and  taking  him  out  to 
dinner  with  girls — " 

"Oh,  oh!  Barbara!"  cried  Fred. 

It  was  such  a  good  dinner,  Barbara ! ' '  said  Tony.  Un- 
questionably, his  smile  was  coming  back. 

The  dogs  at  the  same  moment  began  to  quarrel  over 
a  bone  and  their  voices  rose  in  ear-splitting  dispute. 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  35 

Estella  cuffed  one  of  them  and  the  other  carried  the  bone 
into  the  sitting-room,  from  whence  issued  ecstatic  lick- 
ings and  crunchings. 

In  the  comparative  pause  Mrs.  Donnelly's  tearful  in- 
dignation burst  upon  Barbara :  "We  all  know  what  you 
mean  by  that  last,  Barbara  Floyd,"  she  cried.  "And  I 
guess  there  are  other  people,  besides  you,  in  this  house 
that  are  sick  and  tired  of  being  poor,  and  the  fuss  there 
is  about  meals,  and  that  have  spent  all  their  money  on 
you,  and  whose  fathers  were  rich  and  famous,  and 
thought  nothing  of  living  at  Delmonico's,  before  ever 
you  were  born.  If  the  butcher  is  swindled  out  of  his 
meat,  I  don't  see  but  you  eat  your  share  of  it.  If  you 
think  it's  messy  here,  why  don't  you  get  up  and  clean 
it?  Tony's  scrubbed  the  kitchen  while  you've  been 
lolling  there,  and  you  wouldn't  know  how  to  cook  any- 
thing but  a  boiled  egg  and  a  pickle  to  this  day  if  it 
wasn't  for  Tony.  You're  a  bad,  ungrateful  girl,  Bar- 
bara Floyd,  and  Tony — " 

Estella  pitched  her  voice  above  the  voices  of  Mrs. 
Donnelly  and  the  dogs:  "Don't  you  try  to  bully  my 
sister,  Kate  Donnelly,  she — " 

Tony  struck  the  table  sharply  with  his  hand.  ' '  Come, 
Barbara,"  he  said.  "We  must  get  the  washing  down 
now."  He  held  the  door  open  for  her,  and  without 
looking  round  she  went  past  him  into  the  hall. 

At  the  head  of  the  top  flight  of  stairs  there  was  a 
door  with  a  heavy,  sliding  weight,  and  Tony,  who  had 
run  upstairs  in  advance,  pushed  it  open,  and  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  like  a  lavish  host,  welcomed  Barbara 
to  the  great,  shining  roof.  It  was  very  wide  and  hot 


36  MERELY  PLAYERS 

and  silent,  and  little  airs  that  the  sidewalk  never  knew 
drifted  over  its  cornices.  Said  Tony:  "To  where,  be- 
yond the  voices,  there  is  peace." 

Barbara  stepped  out  fearlessly  between  the  glare  of 
the  red  roofs  and  the  glare  of  the  blue  and  golden  sky. 
With  a  happy  breath  she  turned  her  unshielded  face  up 
to  the  light.  This  stretch  of  gleaming  tin  had  long  been 
their  private  garden,  and  they  had  known  it  in  many 
kinds  of  weather.  ' '  Oh,  Tony ! ' '  she  said,  in  a  little  soft, 
fluttered,  laughing  voice,  "we  needn't  bother  about  the 
washing  yet,  need  we  ? " 

"Come,"  said  Tony.  "I've  found  a  place  where  we 
can  see  the  river.  I  found  it  for  us  this  morning. 
Mustn't  tell!" 

"No,"  she  said,  and  put  her  hand  out  to  him,  like 
a  child.  "Show  me." 

Behind  its  newer  and  broader  substitute  an  old  chim- 
ney rose  out  of  the  roof's  western  bulwark,  from  which 
it  parted  company  a  few  feet  above  the  ground  in  an 
angle  of  crumbling  brick  and  mortar.  Tony  jumped  into 
the  niche  of  this  angle  and  held  down  a  hand  to  Bar- 
bara. "Step  up  and  I'll  lift  you,"  he  directed.  She 
was  beside  him  in  an  instant,  and  found  herself  breast- 
high  above  the  parapet,  which  served  as  an  elbow  rest. 
It  was  too  broad  to  let  them  see  straight  down  into  the 
common,  cluttered  street,  and  beyond  the  shops  and  the 
low  buildings  over  the  way  stumbled  the  vine-smothered 
huts  of  squatters;  past  a  bit  of  leafy,  broken  ground 
the  wide  green  of  market  gardens  was  dotted  with  the 
gold  of  sunflowers  and  the  scarlet  of  geraniums,  a  single 
close-shorn  lawn  was  banked  with  the  white  and  the 
mystic  blue  of  hydrangeas.  Further  yet,  between  the 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  37 

shimmer  of  poplars  and  the  frown  of  purple  hills,  the 
river  flashed  and  drifted. 

"It's  good  here,"  said  Tony. 

Barbara  stretched  her  arm  across  the  parapet  as 
though  she  stretched  it  into  the  coolness  of  fresh  water. 
"There's  a  yacht — a  white  one;  watch!  Going  down 
the  river!  Let's  pretend  it's  going  straight  to  sea, 
Tony — what  fun !  Across  the  sea. ' ' 

"We're  going  with  it,  you  know.  Just  ourselves,  of 
course,  and  a  telescope,  maybe,  and  plenty  of  honey 
wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note.  All  the  little  fishes 
will  come  and  beg  us  for  the  honey,  and  you  '11  give  it  to 
them  out  of  your  hands,  till  I  shall  be  jealous.  It  isn't 
nice  to  be  jealous.  I  wouldn  't  let  even  a  little  fish  suffer 
it,  if  I  were  you,  Barbara — Why,  Barbara !  what  foolish- 
ness you  talk !  And  you  don 't  even  hear  me ! " 

' '  I  wish  I  could  see  all  this  from  my  own  window, ' '  she 
said. 

"Ah,  but  you  can 't !  I  had  to  show  it  to  you,  Barbara. 
It  was  quite  easy  to  find,  but  you  know  you  never  found 
it."  The  little  rosy  ruffle  of  Barbara's  sleeve  lay  on 
the  rough  edge  of  the  parapet,  and  Tony  bent  his  head 
and  kissed  it.  "I  was  sure  you'd  like  it  here.  Be 
good,"  he  said. 

The  voices  of  some  children  singing  ring-games  on 
a  near  fire-escape  rose  with  an  accent  of  their  own  na- 
tures to  the  two  truants  on  the  housetop.  Otherwise 
they  seemed  the  only  living  souls  in  a  universe  made 
up  of  two  expanses;  below  them,  the  wide,  sparkling, 
burning  roofs,  with  one  distant  fringe  of  leaves  and 
waters,  and  above,  the  radiant,  hot  blue,  luminous  and 
quivering,  and  scarcely  tinged  by  the  white  clouds  which 


38  MERELY  PLAYERS 

slowly  sailed  across  it  and  banked  themselves  on  the 
horizon  into  palaces  and  temples.  Toward  the  west, 
where  the  sun  blazed  in  a  splendor  that  even  the  eyes 
of  lovers  dared  not  meet,  the  heavens  were  almost  white 
— not  in  pallor,  but  effulgence,  like  light  incarnate. 
Small,  lazy  breezes  floated  through  the  sunshine,  and 
brushed,  fresh  and  sweet,  against  their  faces. 

"Barbara,"  said  Tony,  leaning  forward  and  catching 
her  by  both  wrists,  "where  did  Regina  find  my  ring?" 

She  was  startled  both  by  the  suddenness  of  his  attack 
and  by  the  strength  of  his  hold,  and  straining  back  upon 
his  grasp  she  remained  alert  and  silent,  like  a  deer.  He 
waited  a  moment,  but  she  continued  passionately  quiet, 
passionately  studious  of  his  face.  In  the  pause,  the 
voices  of  the  children  arose  with  a  new  clearness: 

"  And  on  his  breast  he  wore  a  star, 
Pointing  to  the  East  and  West." 

"Barbara!" 

"Hush!"  she  insisted.  Her  breath  was  fluttering  on 
her  lips,  and  her  eyes  shining  into  his : 

"  Go  choose  your  East,  go  choose  your  West, 
Go  choose  the  one  that  you  love  best." 

"You  kept  that  ring!"  he  said.  "You  kept  it — be- 
cause of  me ! ' '  Almost  as  he  spoke  she  had  leaped  down 
and  away  from  him,  and  was  running  across  the  roof. 

He  caught  up  with  her  on  the  low  platform  of  wooden 
slats  amid  the  flutter  of  the  wet  linens. 

"Help  me  take  these  in,"  she  called  to  him:  "Estella 
will  be  angry."  She  was  struggling  with  the  clothes- 
pins, and  their  fingers  met  over  a  row  of  pillow-slips. 

"They're  not  dry  yet.     Listen,  I — " 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS  39 

"There's  a  breeze  come  up.  It  will  dry  them  in  a 
minute."  She  was  moving  further  and  further  away. 

"Why,  see,  my  sweet,  you  don't  know  what  you're 
saying;!  I  want  to  tell  you — " 

•  "Oh,"  she  cried,  pausing  oppressedly,  "what  does 
everybody  tell  me?  That  you  are  idle,  that  you  are 
extravagant,  that  you — that  you — that  girls — " 

"Barbara,"  he  said,  "though  they  follow  me  in  their 
thousands  and  their  ten  thousands,  though  their  dead 
bodies  strew  my  pathway,  I  will  be  blind  to  them.  I 
love  you,  Barbara." 

She  retreated  again,  making  as  though  to  reach  the 
door,  and  he  stood  still  in  a  sudden  bitterness,  with  a 
little  wound  in  the  dignity  of  his  love.  The  next  instant 
he  was  startled  to  see  her,  who  was  so  light  and  true  of 
step,  stumble  and  lose  her  footing  on  a  broken  slat  and 
sink  down  in  a  heap  with  her  hands  over  her  face. 

He  ran  up  and  bent  over  her  without  touching  her. 
1 '  Oh,  my  dear ! "  he  asked ;  ' '  what  is  it  ?  Are  you  hurt  ? 
Or  were  you  angry?  Would  you  like  me  to  go  away? 
What  is  it?" 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his  and  put  her  arms  around 
his  neck. 

"I  was  thinking  of  you,"  she  said. 

Half  an  hour  later  as  they  still  sat  on  the  platform 
the  roof  rang  with  their  names,  and  from  under  their 
damp  canopy  of  tablecloths  and  towels  they  perceived 
Estella  in  the  doorway. 

' '  Come  on ! "  she  called.  ' '  Why,  whatever 's  kept  you  ? 
Come  on!  The  alimony's  come,  and  we're  all  going  to 
Coney  Island  for  dinner ! ' ' 


40  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Don't  be  so  noisy,  Estella!"  said  Tony.  "We're  en- 
gaged. ' ' 

"Really?  Really,  Barbara?  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it- 
Yes,  Regina,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder,  "come  up. 
Mamma's  here. — Well,  I'm  very  glad.  And  I'll  have 
my  white  satin  cleaned  for  her  as  soon  as  I  can.  How 
jolly  we're  going  out  to  dinner!  Like  a  party  for  you, 
Barbara. ' ' 

"Splendid!"  said  Tony.  "The  alimony  baked  meats 
did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables." 

He  sprang  up  and  handed  Barbara  to  her  feet.  There 
fell  to  the  ground  something  Barbara  had  been  showing 
Tony — a  slender  ribbon,  as  long  as  a  watch-chain,  and, 
dangling  from  its  end,  a  great,  clumsy,  ridiculous  gilt 
ring.  Regina,  who  came  staggering  through  the  door- 
way, fell  upon  this  latter  object  with  a  shriek  of  joy- 
ous recognition.  "Anny  Bobs  gah  go  ring!"  she  cried. 
"Rina  awn  go  finey  aws,  go  finey  aws,  go  roun  an  roun 
an  roun ! ' ' 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY 


"^VTOBODY  was  further  from  my  mind  than  Regal 
1  i|    Cocks,  commonly  called  "His  Shakes,"  when,  on 
a  raw  day  in  late  October,  I  alighted  at  the  little  bare 
depot  of  Steele,  Michigan. 

Hartaling,  the  tragedian,  with  his  customary  light- 
some disregard  for  practical  affairs,  had  had  no  heavy 
man  in  readiness  when  Leffitt's  notice  was  almost  ex- 
pired. Our  arrangements  had  been  made  by  telegraph, 
and  joining  the  company  at  Steele,  I  was  to  play  lago 
the  next  night.  It  was  only  recovery  for  me,  and  I  had 
acted  with  Hartaling  before. 

The  company  was  late  in  getting  in  and  I  missed  its 
arrival.     At  supper  time,  as  I  was  walking  through  the 
chilly  and  almost  empty  dining-room  of  the  town's  one 
hotel,  somebody  at  a  table  waved  a  hand  and  called: 
* '  Rogers,  old  man ! ' ' 
' '  Why,  Lawrence ! ' 3 

We  had  never  been  more  than  ordinarily  friendly,  but 
a  one-night  stand  is  a  very  hothouse  for  intimacy.     I 
flung  myself,  metaphorically,  into  the  arms  of  Norman 
Lawrence  and  sat  down  at  the  place  next  his. 
"Glad  you've  come;  expected  to  find  you  here." 
' '  Expected  to  find  you  here,  if  it  comes  to  that. ' ' 
"Huh!     Didn't  leave  Grand  Rapids  till  noon." 
"What  a  fool  jump!    No  earlier  train?" 

43 


44  MERELY  PLAYERS 

' '  The  Lord  knows.  Saved  a  couple  of  dollars  on  fares, 
perhaps." 

"The  saints  preserve  us!  Hartaling  getting  eco- 
nomical ? ' ' 

"Oh,  it  isn't  Hartaling;  it's  Freelman.  He  runs  the 
company.  Says  he's  keeping  the  old  boy  straight.  The 
governor  can't  comb  his  hair  unless  he  tells  him  to." 
Freelman  was  the  business  manager. 

' '  How  is  the  governor  ?     Getting  portly  ? ' ' 

"No,  but  a  little  coarse  in  the  grain.  Telfair  says 
he's  the  healthiest  Hamlet  extant." 

Telfair  still  playing  juveniles?" 

"Yes,  and  the  heavy  woman  not  within  ten  years  of 
her." 

' '  Who  else  is  with  you  ?     Anybody  that  I  know  ? ' ' 

' '  No,  I  think  not.  Except  perhaps  Nevins.  Well,  you 
know  Cocks,  I  suppose?" 

' '  What !— not  Regal  ?    Not  His  Shakes  ? ' ' 

"The  same." 

' '  Why,  what 's  Hartaling  doing  with  him  ? ' ' 

"Supporting  him." 

I  laughed,  but  recollections  crowded  out  my  mirth. 
"Lawrence,"  said  I,  "that  man's  a  mystery  to  me." 

"Well,  he  isn't  to  me;  I'm  sick  of  his  airs — ugly  old 
bungler !  What 's  he  ever  been  but  a  hanger-on  ?  Booth, 
Barrett,  Adams,  all  these  men  he  talks  about  and  sniffs 
at  behind  their  backs ;  what  was  he  with  'em  for?  Why, 
to  go  on  in  mobs,  because  they  were  sorry  for  him !  And 
this  eternal  Shakespeare  business — it  isn't  funny  to  me, 
Rogers,  it's  maddening.  He  hasn't  got  a  patent  on 
Shakespeare,  and,  what's  more,  he  knows  no  more  about 
the  only  William  than  my  terrier  does.  He  can  bam- 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  45 

boozle  the  boys  by  quoting  at  'em  all  day  long,  but  not 
me.  He  doesn't  understand  ten  lines  of  Shakespeare." 

"I  know,"  I  said,  "but  that's  it.  Isn't  there  some- 
thing interesting  in  a  man  making  himself  the  high  priest 
of  the  Unfathomable?" 

"But,  Lord  love  you,  he  thinks  he's  the  One  Great 
Fathomer !  He  thinks  he  could  teach  Booth  every  time ! 
He  thinks  God  put  him  on  this  earth  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  interpreting  Shakespeare!" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you're  sneering,  but  he  does  think 
that.  And  he  rolls  out  those  great  mouthfuls  of  tragedy, 
just  as  he  might  roll  out  lines  from  Dante  without  un- 
derstanding Italian,  for  the  sound  of  it." 

' '  Ach !  You  can  take  my  word  for  it — it 's  pose ! 
You  can't  make  me  believe  a  man's  crazy  over  poetry 
that  won't  spend  fifteen  cents  for  a  drink!  However, 
since  it'll  flatter  you,  the  liking's  reciprocal.  You're 
one  of  the  few  people  Cocks  is  willing  to  let  live." 

Before  I  could  answer,  two  or  three  of  the  men  came 
in  and  then  the  heavy  woman — a  Miss  Marsh — tall,  thin, 
with  candid  eyes,  young  and  very  serious.  She  ate 
sparingly  and  soon  retired.  Almost  as  she  left,  Teresa 
Telfair  came  in. 

Miss  Telfair  was  also  tall,  with  a  faded  face,  color- 
less and  pretty.  She  looked  tired  and  rather  peevish, 
and  her  shoulders  were  muffled  in  a  whitish  woolen 
shawl  which  she  drew  round  her  with  something  not 
sufficiently  decided  to  be  called  a  shiver.  There  was 
about  her  a  sort  of  boneless,  shiftless,  wavy  dignity 
that  somehow  suggested  an  old  silk  waist.  She  acknowl- 
edged my  presence  in  a  soft,  fretful  monotone,  and  con- 
versation languished.  I  myself  was  nervous  and  un- 


46  MERELY  PLAYERS 

comfortable.  The  ineffable  desolation  of  a  one-night 
stand  settled  upon  me  like  a  cold  mist. 

Suddenly,  as  I  was  gulping  down  some  pinkish  tea, 
I  felt  upon  my  shoulder  a  rather  claw-like  pressure,  and 
a  deep,  cracked,  much-mannered  voice  of  inextinguish- 
able melancholy  tolled  out  the  words :  ' '  Once  again  our 
very  good  friend  is  with  us.  Not  all  the  discomfort  of 
the  day  weighs  with  this  hour." 

I  reached  for  Cock's  hand,  and  he  took  the  chair  next 
me.  Lawrence  rose  to  go,  and  nodded  his  head  to  me. 
' '  Coming  in  front  ? ' '  said  he. 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  may  be  around  for  the  last  act, 
after  I've  finished  up  on  lago, — oh,  but, — sit  through 
Ingomar !  at  this  stage  of  the  game !  Can  I  ? " 

"  It  is  a  tale, 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing." 

intoned  Cocks  with  his  funereal  smile. 

"Lord,  Cocks!"  fretted  Miss  Telfair,  rising  and  pull- 
ing at  her  shawl  with  a  languid  viciousness,  "we  get 
enough  of  that  in  the  theatre.  Do  let  us  have  a  rest 
at  meals."  Cocks  sat  back  mute.  There  was  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  martyr  in  his  manner  which  was  inex- 
pressibly irritating.  Miss  Telfair  trailed  from  the  room, 
and  His  Shakes  and  I  were  left  alone. 

My  friend  toyed  meditatively  with  his  spoon  before 
he  spoke.  "Is  it  not  wonderfully  grateful  to  you," 
he  began,  "to  return  to  the  fountain-head,  Mr.  Rogers. 
To  drink  of  the  waters  and  to  pass  the  cup  to  others? 
Especially  after  the  empty  vulgarity  that  you  have 
known?" 

"Yes,"  I  returned,  "it  is.     I  think  a  man  who  is 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  47 

brought  up  in  the  legitimate,  Mr.  Cocks,  hankers  after 
it  always." 

His  Shakes  sighed.  ' '  The  legitimate !  I  had  thought 
from  your  remark  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  my  dear  sir,  you 
were  of  the  stricter  faith." 

I  could  not  repress  a  smile.  "Ah,  well,  Mr.  Cocks," 
said  I,  ' '  give  other  blank  verse  a  chance !  Alas !  man 
cannot  live  by  the  best  alone." 

His  Shakes  made  a  slight  gesture  as  though  he  had 
refused  a  dish.  "  To  the  nature  alien  from  the  Mas- 
ter, there  is  food  in  the  servants'  hall,"  he  said. 
"Doubtless  in  this  company  there  is  a  great  drawback, 
the  character  of  the  chief  interpreter,  a  wine-bibber, 
a  witless  Falstaff." 

A  stab  of  indignation  wounded  my  pity  for  the  man. 
He  was  a  pensioner  on  Hartaling's  bounty,  a  useless 
filler  of  a  position  coveted  by  better  men,  a  con- 
ceited, prating  old  ingrate.  "Hartaling  is  my  em- 
ployer," said  I  curtly. 

Cocks  plucked  at  the  tablecloth  with  thin,  weak- 
jointed  fingers.  His  eyes  were  shining.  "It  is  that 
which  so  offends  me,"  he  replied.  "The  man  is  a 
son  of  ignorance,  a  butcher,  while  you  are,  you — you 
love  Shakespeare." 

He  said  this  last  with  a  sudden  simplicity,  with  a 
flush  and  tremor  that  touched  and  startled  me.  When 
I  left  Regal  Cocks  for  lago,  it  was  that  last  note  of  in- 
disputable, all-excusing  sincerity  which  remained  with 
me.  I  do  not  think  it  was  my  vanity  which  could  not 
dislike  the  man. 

As  the  weeks  went  by,  this  sensation  of  pity,  not  un- 
touched with  admiration,  indicated  my  habitual  attitude 


48  MERELY  PLAYER& 

toward  Cocks,  and  indeed  I  thought  the  company,  as  a 
whole,  behaved  kindly  to  the  old  man.  But  then,  though 
he  was  weak  and  had  a  racking  cough  and  life  must 
have  been  one  long  discomfort  on  his  tiny  salary,  he 
was  always  ready  to  do  a  service,  and  if  his  courtesy  was 
somewhat  ceremonious,  it  was  full  of  a  pleasure  which 
gave  it  dignity.  Get  him  away  from  his  one  hobby — a 
hobby  that  even  beyond  the  ordinary  engendered  a  super- 
cilious aggression — and  he  was  as  simple  as  a  child.  His 
mind  puttered  about,  continually,  among  roseate 
dreams  and  little  witless  faiths.  He  could  never  have 
known  the  meaning  of  guile,  and  at  sixty  his  heart  was 
all  romance.  He  went  through  life  as  blindly  as  he 
had  gone  through  Shakespeare,  and  as  confidently;  even 
his  little  affectations  were  so  natural  it  would  have  been 
an  affectation  to  subdue  them.  Now  most  of  these  pe- 
culiar, pedantic  old  gentlemen  are  at  heart  egotists, 
and  encased  in  a  panoply  of  conceit  which  our  best  di- 
rected rudeness  cannot  penetrate;  but  His  Shakes  was 
gentle,  shrank  before  a  slight,  and  must  be  approved 
by  everybody. 

The  gossip  about  him  ran  as  to  whether  or  no  he  was 
a  hypocrite;  whether  the  Shakespeare  matter  were  a 
pose — in  which  case  it  was  not  altogether  without  prece- 
dent— or  a  vitality,  which  seemed  impossible.  After 
a  time  he  answered  that  question  to  our  satisfaction,  and 
this  was  the  manner  of  the  answer. 

II 

Our  little-respected,  much-liked  star,  Thomas  Harta- 
ling,  was  a  gentleman  who  eared  for  nothing  on  earth 
but  what  he  called  "his  fun."  On  account  of  his  blond, 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  49 

heavy,  showy  beauty  and  huge  voice,  he  had  a  certain 
following  all  over  the  country  and  more  especially  in 
the  one-night  stands;  but  he  would  sacrifice  business, 
reputation  and  even  appearance  to  ' '  his  fun. ' '  He  liked 
to  break  up  serious  scenes  by  guying,  to  play  practical 
jokes  on  newspaper  men,  to  tease  his  audience.  Worst 
of  all,  he  had  an  overweening  partiality  for  the  cup  that 
cheers  and  too  frequently  inebriates.  Now,  his  chief 
idea  of  "fun"  was  to  make  other  men  drink  of  that 
cup  with  him.  It  is  so  detestable  a  trait  that  I  scarcely 
know  how  to  account  for  it  in  that  big,  stupid,  generous 
heart,  but  it  was  there ;  and  almost  to  have  incapacitated 
a  man  of  his  own  company,  a  man  who  bore  a  share  in 
a  performance  which  raised  or  lowered  Hartaling's  own 
income,  was  to  him  the  best  joke  in  the  world.  Many 
and  many  a  night  he  and  his  confederate  would  arrive 
at  the  theatre  almost  as  the  overture  began,  and  would 
scuttle  on  to  the  stage  with  thick  utterances  and  blotchy 
make-ups.  But  this  was  mainly  before  Freelman's  day. 
Now,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  fall  and  well  into 
the  winter,  Freelman  had  been  keeping  a  pretty  tight 
hold  on  Hartaling.  He  was  a  lean  little  man,  with  a 
keen,  dry  manner,  and  he  had  a  wholesome  influence 
over  the  big  barbaric  duffer  who  employed  him.  It  was 
with  considerable  uneasiness  that  he  left  us  on  the  22nd 
of  December  and  went  on  to  await  us  in  Dennerton, 
where  we  were  to  open  with  a  Christmas  matinee  of 
"Hamlet"  and  play  three  nights.  It  was  not  his  place 
to  go,  but  Tommy  Baker,  the  advance  man,  who  had  been 
released  only  the  week  before  to  go  to  a  funeral,  was  now 
ill  with  the  grippe,  and  Dennerton  was  a  big  place  and 
worth  working. 
4 


50  MERELY  PLAYERS 

For  a  day  or  two  Hartaling  kept  straight,  and  then, 
on  Christmas  Eve,  he  came  to  the  theatre  in  the  condi- 
tion Sir  Walter  Raleigh  engagingly  describes  as  "mod- 
erate pleasant."  Nevins  was  pleasant  also,  but  scarcely 
moderate.  The  rest  of  us  were  virtuously  cross.  Every 
one  was  miserable  at  the  thought  of  the  night's  traveling, 
for  we  were  to  leave  on  the  midnight  train  and  to  reach 
Dennerton  at  six  in  the  morning. 

When  we  assembled  in  the  cold,  half-lighted  depot, 
every  one  was  present  except  Hartaling  and  Nevins. 
Reilly,  the  poor  little  stage  manager,  burdened  with  un- 
sought responsibility,  was  fretting  about  the  platform, 
when,  ten  minutes  before  train  time,  a  boy  arrived  with 
a  note,  the  contents  of  which  Reilly  was  glad  to  share 
with  us.  It  ran : 

"  Take  company  through  to  Dennerton.  Nevins  with  me. 
Will  follow  by  morning  train. 

"  HARTALING." 

I  suppose  the  rest  of  the  company  thought  as  little 
about  the  affair  as  I  did  until  noon  next  day.  People 
who  are  doing  one-night  stands  think  as  little  as  possi- 
ble about  anything.  I  entered  the  theatre  at  1 :30  on 
Christmas  afternoon  and  found  the  atmosphere  resolutely 
gay  and  little  presents  flying  about  among  the  women. 
Ten  minutes  later  a  vague  and  questioning  agitation  had 
crept  into  the  dressing-rooms  and  made  itself  felt  by 
scurryings  and  little  silences.  But  the  truth,  when  it 
came,  was  none  the  less  a  blow:  Hartaling  was  not  in 
town. 

Gasp  by  gasp  the  story  came  out.  Freelman  and  his 
subordinate  had  met  the  noon  train  in  vain.  Telegrams 
elicited  the  fact  that  Hartaling  had  not  been  to  his  hotel 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  51 

all  night.  His  whereabouts  were  still  unknown.  Nevins 
was  also  missing.  And  in  the  front  of  the  house  the 
biggest  audience  of  the  season  was  already  seating  itself. 

About  the  time  that  the  overture  should  have  been 
rung  in,  Freelman,  pale  and  with  twitching  lips,  walked 
into  the  corridor  between  the  dressing-rooms.  He  went 
from  door  to  door  with  a  single  question,  and  the  an- 
swer was  invariably  in  the  negative.  Young  Maltham, 
who  played  Rosencrantz,  was  already  making  up  in  lieu 
of  Nevins  for  the  ghost,  but  no  one  was  ready  with  Ham- 
let. In  a  company  of  legitimate  actors,  where  were  old 
stagers  ripe  with  experience,  and  young  amateurs  afire 
with  ambition,  it  still  seems  incredible,  but  it  was  so. 
Presently  Freelman  came  into  my  room,  and  found 
there  old  Mrs.  Mathers  in  her  street  dress,  myself,  a  cou- 
ple of  the  other  men,  and  Tess  Telfair,  ready  for  Ophelia, 
throned  upon  my  trunk.  ' '  Rogers, ' '  he  said,  ' '  can 't  you 
save  an  eight-hundred  dollar  house — can't  you  go  on  for 
Hamlet?"  "Freelman,"  said  I,  "I  could  place  any 
line  in  the  repertoire  if  you  started  it  for  me,  but  I'm 
blest  if  I  could  get  even  rough  perfect  in  Hamlet  under  a 
couple  of  hours." 

"Couldn't  you  wing  it,  Roggie?"  asked  somebody.  I 
shook  my  head.  Freelman  sucked  his  lips.  One  of  the 
boys  sniggered.  "Why  don't  you  go  to  His  Shakes?"  he 
said.  "I'll  bet  he's  up  in  every  line." 

Freelman  looked  up  with  his  face  working.  Then  he 
went  suddenly  out  of  the  room.  Miss  Telfair  started  up 
with  her  hands  clinched.  "If  they  send  on  that  old 
man,"  she  declared,  "I  don't  put  a  foot  on  the  stage." 
She  looked  superbly  angry;  arrayed  for  the  stage,  she 
was  a  different  creature  from  the  listless  lady  of  the  ho- 


52  MERELY  PLAYERS 

tels.  She  was  aglow  with  life  and  color,  and  something 
primitive  and  feminine  shone  in  her  and  glorified  her 
easy  rage. 

Freelman  returned  in  a  minute  or  two.  "Cocks,"  he 
said,  with  his  odd,  cold  excitement,  ' '  is  going  to  play  the 
part.  I  rely  on  all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  assist 
him." 

Tess  looked  at  him.  "You  are  going  to  make  an  apol- 
ogy to  the  audience?"  she  demanded. 

Freelman 's  eyes  shifted  a  little.  "These  are — er — 
holiday  people,  not  regular  theatre-goers.  They  don't — 
er — know  Hartaling. " 

"You  are  going  to  make  an  apology  to  the  audience, 
or  I  don 't  put  a  foot  on  that  stage. ' ' 

"Miss  Telfair — "  began  Freelman  through  his  teeth. 

She  continued,  not  more  loudly,  but  with  increasing 
vehemence:  "I  am  not  going  to  be  made  more  ridic- 
ulous than  I  can  help  by  playing  opposite  to  any  dodder- 
ing old  idiot  that  you  may  shove  on  because  you  can't 
find  your  star."  She  collapsed  into  her  ordinary  man- 
ner of  private  life.  ' '  Get  another  Ophelia  if  you  want, ' ' 
she  said. 

"Oh!  Tess,  Teresa!"  I  cried,  "don't  be  so  unprofes- 
sional!" I  dodged  both  her  look  and  Freelman 's  and 
leaving  them  to  fight  it  out,  went  to  see  after  His  Shakes. 

I  found  him  in  what  should  have  been  Hartaling 's 
dressing-room,  surrounded  by  willing  helpers.  The  poor 
old  face  had  never  looked  so  shrunken  and  the  curls  of 
the  blond  wig  seemed  to  leer  at  him.  He  had  black 
tights  and  sandals  of  his  own,  but  Hartaling 's  great 
doublet  hung  around  him  in  a  manner  that  would  have 
excited  the  derision  of  a.  guinea-pig.  He  looked  so  fool- 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  53 

ish,  frail  and  old  that  the  great  chain  with  the  locket 
seemed  to  weigh  down  his  shoulders,  and  yet,  at  that 
moment,  he  was  the  happiest  man  in  Dennerton. 

"You  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour,"  he  cried 
out  to  me.  "I  am  glad  that  you  have  come.  Will  you 
walk  with  me  to  the  stage  ? ' ' 

When  we  arrived  there,  we  found  that  the  gallant  Tess 
had  carried  her  point  and  Freelman  was  just  then  step- 
ping before  the  curtain.  Freelman 's  speech  was  very 
brief.  He  said  that  Hartaling's  train  had  been  delayed, 
that  he  would  certainly  be  there  for  the  evening's  per- 
formance, and  that  the  character  of  Hamlet  would  be 
essayed  that  afternoon  by  Mr.  Regal  Cocks.  The  usual 
kindly  flutter  of  applause  followed  the  name,  but  a  man 
in  the  gallery  crowed  shrilly  and  raised  a  laugh.  Cocks 
himself  did  not  even  hear  it.  Freelman  added  that  the 
dissatisfied  might  claim  their  money  at  the  box  office,  but 
very  few  went  out.  An  audience  once  seated  wants  its 
performance,  if  not  the  better,  the  worse. 

During  the  battlement  scene,  Cocks  stood  waiting  for 
the  change  of  set  with  his  hand  on  my  arm.  He  was 
nervous,  not  with  apprehension,  but  with  a  heady,  fine 
excitement,  and  his  eyes  shone  gratefully  through  tears. 
He  mumbled  to  himself  a  little,  and  then  he  said:  "If 
at  the  end  they  should  require  from  me  a  few  poor  words, 
it  were  not  well  to  grudge  them.  I  would  dwell  on  my 
apprenticed  years,  on  the  dear  drudgery,  on  my  great 
love — "  His  voice  broke,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it 
was  with  one  of  his  sudden  fine  simplicities.  "I  do  not 
blush  at  my  emotion,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  crown  of  all 
my  life. ' ' 

The  inexorable  slipping  by  of  time  went  on,  and  the 


54  MERELY  PLAYERS 

moment  came  when  from  my  wooden  throne  I  looked 
down  with  an  almost  unmanning  concern  upon  that 
doomed  enthusiast.  The  moment  he  took  the  stage  there 
went  through  the  audience  something  too  faint  and  in- 
definite to  be  called  a  titter,  but  yet  a  something,  and 
that  derisive.  His  cracked,  melancholy  voice  intoned  the 
simple  opening  lines  without  giving  much  offense,  for 
they  are  not  lacking  who  conceive  of  Hamlet  as  a  Dead 
March  in  a  monotone,  but  he  no  sooner  reached  ' '  this  too, 
too  solid  flesh"  than  a  surprised  smile  arose,  and  at 
' '  The  king,  my  father ! ' '  which  Cocks  gave  in  an  amaz- 
ing guttural  outcry  and  with  an  extraordinary  crackling 
of  joints,  a  girl  giggled  aloud  and  two  or  three  near  her 
sniggered. 

I  kept  out  of  Cock 's  way  during  his  wait,  but  when  his 
scene  with  the  ghost  came  on  my  curiosity  got  the  better 
of  me,  and  I  sat  down  in  the  entrance.  I  began  to  wish 
we  had  never  entered  upon  this  anxious  expedient,  but 
yet  I  had  an  interest  in  seeing  it  through.  Of  the  scene 
itself  I  have  no  words  to  tell.  Many  a  burlesque  is  not 
so  funny,  but  the  tragedy  was  what  rose  in  my  mouth 
and  tasted  bitter.  For  here  was  a  man,  old,  weak  and 
gentle,  indifferent  to  his  painful  and  ridiculous  appear- 
ance, divesting  himself  of  the  last  rags  of  dignity,  strut- 
ting, mouthing,  twisting  and  bellowing  so  that  one 
blushed  for  him ;  for  him,  the  devotee  and  martyr !  The 
audience,  even  that  audience,  continually  stirred  and 
rustled,  and  at  his  entrance  with  the  sword  there  was  an- 
other burst  of  giggling.  The  curtain  went  down  in  quite 
a  little  gale  of  laughter  and  applause,  and  when  I  took 
His  Shakes  into  my  room  to-  rest  I  found,  from  his  tri- 
umphant tremor,  that  it  was  only  the  latter  he  had  heard. 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  55 

His  skin  was  hot  and  dry,  and  he  looked  at  me  with 
burning  eyes.  "Ah!"  he  said,  "they  are  coming  my 
way!  They  needed  but  the  guidance!  At  first  they 
knew  not  how  to  take  me,  but  now  they  are  set  thinking. " 

Their  state  of  mind,  truly  enough,  was  changing.  It 
grew  from  a  jesting  incredulity  to  the  good-humored 
contempt  of  an  American  crowd;  from  that  to  a  noisy 
but  still  half-amused  disgust ;  and  from  that  to  anger — 
an  anger  to  be  reckoned  with.  By  the  end  of  the  second 
act  an  ominous  silence,  a  portentous  common  under- 
standing, had  spread  among  the  audience. 

When  I  went  on  for  the  third  act  I  was  aware  of  this. 
They  were  too  tensely  still,  too  polite;  they  were  wait- 
ing. After  our  exit,  I  stood  in  the  wing  gripping  Tes- 
sie's  shoulder,  uncomfortably  eager  for  Cocks  to  enter, 
and,  even  as  I  watched  him  do  so,  came  the  advance- 
guard  of  the  storm.  He  was  greeted  with  a  thunder  of 
applause ;  above  this  rose  the  sound  of  men 's  voices  crow- 
ing; in  that  corner  of  the  gallery  which  I  could  see  the 
Growers  stood  up  and  flapped  their  bent  arms  like  wings. 
His  Shakes  bowed  slightly.  He  disliked  the  interruption 
and  was  puzzled  by  its  form,  but  he  did  not  in  the  least 
recognize  it. 

"To  be,  or  not  to  be — "  he  began.  A  perfect  yell  of 
"Not!  Not!  Nit!"  stopped  him.  His  Shakes  looked 
around  the  audience  with  a  deeply  speculative  glance. 
Even  in  the  parquet  men  were  laughing  loudly,  and  some 
few  were  joining  in  the  crows  and  cat-calls.  Here  and 
there  a  woman  said,  ' '  Oh,  don 't ! "  but  with  smiling  lips. 
His  Shakes  gathered  himself  together  and  went  on  amid 
a  rain  of  jeers,  of  laughing  comments  and  mocking  ad- 
vice. His  conception  of  the  soliloquy  was  an  active  one. 


56  MERELY  PLAYERS 

When  he  came  to  the  phrase  ' '  No  more, ' '  he  gave  it  with 
a  wild,  whining  bellow  and  a  backward  shudder  that  was 
almost  a  leap.  And  at  that  the  audience  rose  en  masse 
and  in  a  deluge  of  cat-calls,  hisses,  whistles,  Growings 
and  derisive  yells  the  Hamlet  of  Regal  Cocks,  nicknamed 
His  Shakes,  was  drowned  forever. 

For  at  last  he  realized  what  all  this  was.  Then  in  its 
sudden  sharpness,  the  poor  old  face  seemed  really  to  fall 
in,  and  to  leave  unduly  prominent  the  horror  of  his  eyes 
— eyes  so  full  of  bewilderment,  of  shock  and  misery,  of 
reproach  and  anguish  and  surprise.  And  if  any  had 
thought  him  other  than  a  brave  man,  this  was  no  time 
for  them ;  he  stood  looking  into  that  pit  of  howling  faces, 
and  he  went  on  again  with  his  lines.  Ah!  poor  "His 
Shakes!" — destined  to  be  undignified  even  in  heroism! 
How  he  screamed,  and  shook  with  his  screaming !  Above 
the  continued,  growing  tumult  his  voice,  that  was  now  a 
sharp  treble,  could  occasionally  be  heard:  "Flesh  is 
heir  to  ...  To  die,  to  sleep  .  .  .  what 
dreams — "  He  stopped  suddenly  with  one  hand  on  his 
breast  and  the  fingers  of  the  other  trembling  round  his 
mouth.  Reilly,  with  an  insane  loudness  which  did  not 
carry,  was  calling,  "Ring  down!  Ring  down!"  In 
front,  the  ordinary,  good-natured  men  and  women  were 
turned  for  the  moment  to  mere  wild  beasts,  frenzied  with 
their  own  wit  and  daring,  and  were  determined  to  let 
nothing  go  forward.  "Ring  down !"  yelled  Reilly,  danc- 
ing and  waving  his  arms.  His  Shakes  heard  and  mo- 
tioned a  negation.  He  lifted  his  head  and  in  a  bray  that 
sounded  above  the  din  he  shot  out  the  words,  "When  we 
have  shuffled  off—  Again  he  stopped;  again  he  put 
one  hand  to  his  breast  and  the  other  to  his  mouth.  At 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  57 

that  moment  Reilly's  efforts  succeeded;  the  curtain  be- 
gan to  descend  and,  as  it  fell,  His  Shakes  fell  also  and 
lay,  a  strange  little  crumpled  heap,  upon  the  stage ! 

Though  confusion,  uproar,  reproaches,  perplexity  and 
terror  may  have  been  as  regnant  before  the  curtain  as 
behind  it,  their  subjects  were  not  left  long  to  doubt,  nor, 
if  their  inclinations  that  way  lay,  to  triumph.  While 
people  were  still  fumbling  with  their  outdoor  things,  the 
edge  of  the  curtain  was  moved  back,  and,  with  a  sudden 
splendid  gesture,  Tess  Telfair  stepped  before  the  audi- 
ence. All  in  white,  her  heavy  hair  streaming  over  her 
shoulders,  her  beautiful  bosom  rising  and  falling  with 
long  puissant  breaths,  she  was  a  figure  to  catch  even  the 
complacent,  victorious  brutality  of  that  crowd,  as  well  as 
its  dazed  distress,  and  set  it  gazing.  With  a  single  motion, 
confident  and  free,  she  conquered  every  look  and  spoke. 
"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she  said,  "men  and  women,  if 
there  are  any  among  you  who  care  to  bear  those  titles,  I 
am  here  to  tender  you  an  apology  and  to  offer  satisfac- 
tion. Your  Hamlet,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  was  turned 
into  a  farce,  but  do  not  think  you  shall  be  defrauded  of 
your  tragedy.  The  old  man  who  offended  you  will  never 
do  so  again — he  is  dying." 

The  audience  drew  in  its  breath  with  a  sharp  gasp. 

"I  have  to  say  in  his  behalf  that  he  was  not  a  volun- 
teer ;  that  he  went  into  this  afternoon 's  trial  at  the  com- 
mand of  his  superior,  as  a  soldier  goes  into  battle.  He 
was  doing  his  best.  He  was  old — he  was  ill.  He  did 
what  he  did  that  you  might  not  be  disappointed  of  your 
Christmas  entertainment.  I  hope  it  may  be  a  great  sat- 
isfaction to  you  that  you  have  killed  him ! ' ' 

She  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  them  with  her  great 


58  MERELY  PLAYERS 

impassioned  eyes,  and  then  she  courtesied  deeply  and 
was  gone.  The  hushed  audience  gathered  up  its  wraps 
and  slunk  away.  Once  on  the  sidewalk,  little  groups 
spoke  quietly,  but  with  consternation.  Here  and  there 
a  woman's  eyes  filled  with  nervous  tears.  There  was 
many  a  Christmas  appetite  spoiled  that  day. 

Ill 

Behind  the  scenes  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy  drew 
simply  to  its'  close.  The  supporting  company  might  be 
hysterical,  but  the  chief  actor  was  quiet  enough,  and  had 
at  last  achieved  "repose."  He  lay  in  his  dressing-room 
upon  a  bed  hastily  improvised  upon  two  trunks  with 
skirts  and  draperies.  He  was  quite  conscious  when  the 
doctor  came,  and  answered  the  grave  "This  is  not  your 
first  hemorrhage?"  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "The 
third?" 

The  head  of  the  aged  Hamlet  nodded  indifferently, 
his  eyes  closed,  and  he  drifted  into  a  faint.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  company  looked  at  one  another.  If  he  had 
talked  an  insufferable  deal  about  Shakespeare,  he  had  at 
least  kept  his  own  complaint  out  of  the  conversation. 

The  conscientious  Miss  Marsh  spoke  to  the  doctor  in 
the  hall,  and  his  answer  spread  like  the  cold  breath  of  a 
fog :  "  It  is  a  question  of  a  few  hours. ' ' 

It  was  not  yet  six  o  'clock.  Most  of  the  company  went 
back  to  the  hotel  for  something  to  eat.  Tess,  Miss  Marsh 
and  myself  stayed  with  the  sick  man.  I  had  supper  sent 
in  to  us.  Miss  Marsh  ate  nothing;  Tess  and  I  touched 
little,  except  the  cocktails.  Miss  Marsh  sat  in  one  corner, 
most  of  the  time  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  I 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  59 

walked  up  and  down  the  corridor  outside  and  there  was 
no  noise  but  the  sound  of  my  own  footsteps.  Over  every- 
thing there  was  an  air  of  waiting. 

About  half -past  six  the  backdoor  man,  stepping  softly, 
came  to  me  with  a  bouquet  in  his  hand.  "A  lady  and 
gentleman  brought  it,"  he  said.  "They  hope  Mr.  Cocks 
was  not  so  ill  as  was  first  reported,  and  they  begged  to 
assure  him  of  their  respectful  sympathy. ' '  The  respect- 
ful sympathy  of  the  man 's  own  manner  was  such  that  we 
could  not  manage  to  look  each  other  in  the  face. 

When  I  brought  the  flowers  to  Tess,  she  began  to  cry. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever  seen  her  do  any 
thing  of  the  kind  and  I  stood  by  embarrassed.  She  laid 
the  fragrance  of  their  soft  bloom  against  his  unrespon- 
sive face  and,  "Do  you  think  he'll  come  to,  a  minute, 
Roggie  ? ' '  she  sobbed.  ' '  Just  a  minute,  don 't  you  think, 
to  see  his  flowers  ? ' '  And  then  suddenly,  ' '  Couldn  't  we 
make  him  believe — "  She  sprang  up  and  fetched  me 
her  purse,  ' '  Get  more.  Get  a  lot.  All  our  own  people  '11 
give  you  some  money.  Different  bouquets,  as  if  they 
came  from  strangers. ' '  And  she  hurried  me  away. 

It  was  going  on  for  eight  when  I  returned.  Tess  had 
changed  her  dress  and  freshened  her  make-up,  for  the 
duty  of  presenting  an  unruffled  front  to  the  audience 
comes  before  all  other  duties  whatsoever.  I  had  made  my 
purchases  with  an  eye  mainly  to  quantity,  and  the  bare 
little  room  soon  bloomed  like  a  flower-show.  But  still 
there  was  that  hush  of  waiting  in  it. 

The  night 's  performance  was  far  gone  before  the  mind 
of  His  Shakes  came  back  to  his  world,  to  bid  it  good-bye. 
When,  in  response  to  such  a  rumor,  I  hastened  to  him 


60  MERELY  PLAYERS 

from  my  exit,  I  found  him  wide  awake  among  his  flow- 
ers; one  bouquet  in  his  hand  and  Tess  kneeling  beside 
him  with  his  fingers  in  her  comfortable  clasp. 

"All  for  me?  All  from— the  public?"  I  heard  him 
say. 

"Yes,  from  the  public — the  educated  people — lots  of 
them  have  been  asking  after  you.  The  ones  that  have 
been  to  the  theatres  in  New  York — they're  ashamed  of 
those  barbarians ! ' '  she  cried. 

And  at  that  the  breath  of  Regal  Cocks  fluttered  with 
eagerness;  his  wide  eyes  stared  hungrily  into  her  face. 
"You  think  then,"  he  whispered,  "it  was — merely — their 
— ignorance?  You  think — if  I'd  played  it — on  Broad- 
way— " 

The  actress  looked  me  in  the  face,  calmly  and  proudly. 
"Broadway  would  have  known  that  you  were  great,"  she 
told  him. 

In  the  doorway  behind  me  Hartaling  loomed  up,  with 
Lawrence  and  young  Maltham  in  his  wake,  and  she  chal- 
lenged their  attention,  too,  as  she  said,  "That's  the  way 
the  whole  company  feels,  that  you  were  great.  Why, 
it's  genius,  isn't  it,  that  the  mob  always  hates?  That's 
proof.  You  were  the  best  Hamlet  we  ever  saw,  and  it's 
been  a  lesson  to  all  of  us  in  acting  Shakespeare.  Isn't 
it  so,  boys,  isn  't  it  ?  Tom,  you  tell  him. ' ' 

"That's  right,  Cocks,"  Hartaling  said.  "The  whole 
company  says  so.  They're  going  to  give  me  some  points 
— bits  of  business,  readings,  you  gave.  You  were  great. ' ' 
Tess  looked  at  Hartaling  with  tear-filled,  grateful  eyes. 

But  the  pale  face  of  His  Shakes  was  alight  with  an 
ineffable  happiness,  a  kind  of  noble  complacency.  In  a 
weak  and  slow  fashion  that  was  still  charged  with  some- 


A  VOTARY  IN  MOTLEY  61 

thing  mannered  and  oratorical  he  began,  "I  endeavored 
to  do  justice  to — "  His  voice  failed,  then  with  a  little 
smile  he  breathed,  "His  Majesty  shall  have  tribute  of 
me."  They  were  the  last  words  we  heard  him  speak. 

And  Tess  just  had  time  to  read  the  news  in  the  face 
of  the  hurriedly  summoned  doctor  when  she  was  called 
for  the  mad-scene. 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM 

THOUGH  half-hour  had  been  called,  Miss  Elsie  Lee 
had  not  arrived  when  Miss  Victoria  Marsh  stopped 
at  the  back  door  to  get  their  key.  That  young  lady, 
knowing  all  there  was  at  stake,  proceeded  slowly  upstairs 
and  entered  their  dressing-room  with  a  meditative  step. 
It  was  no  affair  of  Victoria 's,  but  she  was  a  fond  friend. 
The  loveliness  of  the  spring  afternoon  filtered  through 
the  smear  of  paint  over  the  window-panes  which  was  sup- 
posed to  do  duty  for  a  curtain.  Victoria  flung  up  the 
sash  and  leaned  out.  She  was  confronted  across  the 
alley  by  blank  walls  of  begrimed  brick;  the  March  mud 
lay  deep  between;  at  the  alley's  either  end  there  was  a 
faint  clang  of  trolley  cars  and  busy  streets.  But  the  air 
was  full  of  spring,  stirred  with  it,  fainted  with  it,  and 
whispered  against  human  faces  like  a  promise.  Vic- 
toria moved  uneasily,  wondered  at  Elsie,  looked  up,  lin- 
geringly,  toward  the  pale  brightness  of  the  skies.  When 
she  looked  down  again,  it  was  because  the  alley  was  full 
of  oaths  and  of  noises  that  squashed  and  slid  heavily. 
"The  Tameless  Team,"  she  thought  with  amusement, 
even  before  she  beheld  the  two  fat,  drowsy,  piebald 
ponies  that  were  placidly  refusing  to  enter  the  theatre. 
Boards  had  been  laid  into  a  slanting  run  for  them,  men 
led  them  and  men  pushed,  but  the  ponies,  up  to  their 
ankles  in  mud,  turned  their  mild,  cowlike  eyes  upon  their 

servants  and  stood  still,     " the  

5  65 


66  MERELY  PLAYERS 

dunderheaded  hogs ! ' '  said  the  property  man  who  was  at 

their  heads;  ''they  never  take  a  step,  

em!"  Victoria  smiled.  It  was  Elsie's  Ned  who  had 
called  the  title  of  "The  Tameless  Team"  from  an  old 
programme — "The  Tameless  Team  of  Arab  thorough- 
breds driven  by  Miss  Leonard  in  the  third  act  are  from 
the  celebrated  Muskewon  Stables,  Delevan."  That  was 
some  years  ago,  when  Miss  Leonard  had  not  been  above 
advertising  her  play  like  a  circus.  She  did  not  like  Ned 
for  unearthing  that  programme;  she  did  not  like  Elsie. 
Victoria  wished  that  Elsie  would  come. 

The  wish  recalled  to  her  the  lateness  of  the  hour ;  she 
slid  off  her  black  street  skirt  that  it  might  be  pinned 
across  the  window  to  shut  out  the  daylight,  and,  as  she 
mounted  on  the  sill  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  she 
perceived,  turning  the  corner  into  the  alley,  the  figure  of 
a  very  young  girl,  darkly  dressed,  light  of  movement, 
pretty,  with  brown  curls,  and  instinct  with  a  small,  shy, 
shabby  elegance.  That  was  Elsie.  Victoria  observed 
concernedly  that  Ned  was  not  with  her. 

She  turned  on  the  gas  and  the  electric  lights  and 
plunged  with  such  vigor  into  her  make-up  that,  when 
Elsie  came  in,  she  glittered  with  cold  cream  from  her 
hair  to  her  collar-bone,  and  her  severity  was  a  little  oiled 
and  softened  by  it.  "Half -hour's  been  called!"  she 
said. 

Elsie  came  forward  unheedingly.  There  was  expect- 
ancy in  her  face,  and  excitement,  and  a  vague  fright,  not 
unhappy.  ' '  He  went, ' '  she  informed  her  friend. 

"Well,"  said  Victoria,  "so  I  supposed.  He  went — 
what  then?  Did  he  see  Engle? — you'd  better  get 
dressed,  it's  almost  fifteen  minutes."  Elsie  began  to 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  67 

take  off  her  things  and  hang  them  up.  She  moved  a  lit- 
tle as  though  she  were  dreaming. 

"He  saw  Olive  Jervis,"  she  replied,  "and  Mr.  Jervis 
introduced  him  to  Engle.  Mr.  Jervis  said  that  Ned  had 
the  right  personality  for  the  part,  and,  if  he  could  act 
at  all,  he  was  the  man  they  had  been  looking  for.  And 
Mr.  Engle — he  read  Ned's  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr. 
Jervis — Mr.  Engle 's  going  to  be  here  in  Philadelphia  to- 
morrow night,  anyhow,  and  Mr.  Jervis  is  coming  with 
him  to  see  Ned  in  his  part."  She  hung  up  her  dress 
and  sat  down  with  her  elbows  on  the  make-up  shelf ;  the 
gaslight  gleamed  softly  over  the  whiteness  and  slimness 
of  her  young  arms  and  throat,  and,  glimmering  higher, 
disclosed  the  fact  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Victoria  gave  a  long  sigh.  ' '  Well,  it 's  been  worth  it ! 
Jervis  has  the  complete  say  about  the  casts  for  his  pieces ; 
if  he  wants  Engle  to  take  him,  Engle  '11  have  to.  And  if 
ever  Jervis  sees  Ned  in  this  part — Well,  it  was  worth  a 
trip  to  New  York,  now  that  he's  safe  back.  But  I  did 
worry  for  you,  Elsie.  If  he'd  spent  the  money  for  the 
trip  and  then  hadn't  seen  Engle,  or  if  he  hadn't  got 
back  here,  in  time  for  the  matinee — " 

Elsie  looked  drowsily  at  her  rouge-paw.  "He  isn't 
back,"  she  said. 

"What?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Not  yet!" 

("Fifteen  minutes,"  called  the  property  boy  down  the 
hall;  "fifteen  minutes.") 

"Then  how  did  you  know?" 

"He  telegraphed.  I  went  to  the  station  with  him  last 
night,  and  when  we  found  that  if  he  saw  Mr.  Jervis  at 


68  MERELY  PLAYERS 

ten  o'clock  he  could  hardly  hope  to  catch  any  train  back 
here  before  the  11.30,  he  said  he  would  telegraph  so  I 
would  know  how  things  went,  before  I  left  the  house  for 
the  matinee.  I — I  had  to  know." 

"Then,"  said  Victoria,  "he  won't  get  into  this  city 
until  two  o  'clock ! ' ' 

"A  little  before  two,  and  he  isn't  on  till  the  second 
scene  of  the  third  act.  You  know  how  quick  he  is  with 
his  make-up.  Of  course  I  know,  Victoria,  that  he 
oughtn't  to  have  gone.  I  think  Miss  Leonard  would  be 
quite  right  to  fine  him,  if  she  comes  to  know  about  it. 
But  one  has  to  risk  a  fine,  doesn  't  one,  when  one 's  whole 
life  depends  on  it  ? " 

"I  suppose  you  do.  And  that  letter  to  Jervis  was  so 
strong — how  far's  the  depot  from  here?" 

"About  ten  minutes."  Elsie  stuck  the  tip  of  her  lit- 
tle finger  into  her  lip-rouge  and  began  absent-mindedly 
to  trace  the  curves  of  her  lips  with  it.  "Victoria,"  she 
said,  "if  he  gets  that  part  under  such  a  manager  as 
Engle — and  you  know  if  ever  Mr.  Jervis  sees  him  in  this 
piece  he  has  got  it — we'll  be  married  at  the  end  of  this 
season. ' '  She  looked  down  at  her  little  engagement  ring 
and  up  into  Victoria 's  face  as  though  she  had  announced 
a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.  "We've  got  money 
enough  saved,  if  we  knew  he  had  signed  for  next  season, 
to  have  the  whole  summer  to  ourselves  in  the  country. 
And  you  know  a  play  by  Clive  Jervis  runs  nearly  a 
whole  season  in  New  York,  and  we  could  have  a  flat,  and 
I  never  need  go  away  from  him  to  act — unless  I  should 
just  want  to,  Victoria." 

"Suppose  his  train  should  be  late?" 

"Victoria!" 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  69 

"Suppose  his  train  should  be  late  and  he  doesn't  get 
here  for  the  third  act  and  Miss  Leonard  discharges  him. 
Then  when  Engle  and  Jervis  come  on  to-night  they'll 
see  somebody  else  in  his  part  and  hear  he's  been  dis- 
charged for  neglecting  his  business  ? ' ' 

"  Victoria!" 

"You  know  trains  have  been  late,  Elsie." 

The  brown  grease-paint  that  Elsie  was  heating  on  the 
end  of  a  hairpin  melted  over  at  this  prospect  and  fell  in 
a  nasty  blot  on  the  fresh  little  starched  ruffles  at  Elsie's 
breast.  "There!"  said  Elsie,  as  though  Victoria  had 
aimed,  throughout,  at  this  disaster. 

("Overche-w-er,"  screamed  the  property  boy — doing 
duty  for  the  stage-manager's  invalided  assistant,  "Over- 
chewer.  Everybody  down  to  begin.") 

"Nearly  two!"  said  Elsie.  "His  train's  just  about 
coming  in." 

Victoria  stifled  a  "maybe."  "You're  pretty  late 
yourself,"  she  said;  and  she  went  over  to  Elsie  and 
let  down  her  little  knot  of  curls  and  began  pinning  them 
into  the  way  they  ought  to  go. 

She  followed  Elsie  downstairs  when  the  first  act  was 
called  and  they  came  upon  Miss  Leonard,  large,  opu- 
lent, and  handsome,  in  the  entrance.  Miss  Leonard  was 
so  angry  that  the  very  jewels  on  her  breast  spit  fire, 
and  she  flung  a  scrap  of  conversation  even  to  the  two 
girls. 

"What  do  you  think  of  their  bringing  those  ponies 
here  at  this  hour?"  she  demanded.  "To  have  people 
falling  over  them  and  making  them  nervous  and  feeding 
them  nasty,  dirty  sugar  till  the  third  act — Mother's 
comforts ! ' '  she  called  to  the  ponies. 


70  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"I  saw  the  men  getting  them  in,"  said  Victoria  with 
great  demureness. 

Miss  Leonard,  still  seething  at  the  universe,  went  back 
to  her  dressing-room.  The  Tameless  Team,  from  their 
dark  and  remote  corner,  regarded  her  with  a  mild  sur- 
prise. 

The  curtain  had  gone  up  by  this  time  and,  as  the  act 
continued,  it  could  not  be  denied  that  Elsie  was  playing 
with  a  distraught  mind.  At  twenty-five  minutes  past 
two  she  was  free  to  run  upstairs  again,  and  she  went  a 
flight  higher  than  her  room  and  knocked  at  Ned's  door. 
No  one  answered  her.  "Ned,"  she  called,  and  knocked 
again  and  pushed  the  door  open.  The  room  was  empty. 
The  street  clothes  of  the  other  young  fellow  who  dressed 
there  hung  on  one  wall,  but  Ned's  were  not  there,  only 
an  old  red  sweater,  a  brigand's  cloak  left  from  another 
play  and  carried  for  an  occasional  curtain  to  the  door- 
way, and  his  stage  uniform.  Elsie  felt  that  pitiful  sink- 
ing away  of  the  universe  with  which  our  nerves  acknowl- 
edge our  helplessness.  The  worst  had  happened — the 
train  must  be  late !  The  question  was,  how  late  ?  The 
hope  contained  in  a  mere  number  of  minutes  began  to 
rise  in  her  as  she  leaned  against  the  door-frame  and  her 
drowning  spirits  caught  at  and  floated  with  it.  In  the 
infinite  divisibleness  of  time  suggested,  for  instance,  by 
railway  tables,  anything  was  possible;  she  remembered 
long  jumbles  of  trains  starting  and  arriving  at  7.09  and 
4.03 ;  they  showed  at  what  odd  minutes  things  could 
happen.  A  man  need  not  be  hours  late  because  he  was  a 
little  bit  behind  time.  Ned's  train  might  have  come  hur- 
rying in  fifteen,  seventeen  minutes  after  schedule,  and 
he  be  now  flying  in  a  cab  to  save  himself,  or  entering 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  71 

the  back  door  at  that  moment.  She  ran  to  the  window, 
opened  it  and  looked  out,  and  had  as  sharp  a  pang  of 
disappointment  at  the  empty  alley  as  though  she  had 
just  heard  Ned's  chariot  wheels. 

She  lingered  in  the  window,  for  it  was  warm  in  the 
pale  sunshine ;  the  air  was  gently  fresh,  and  yet  after  the 
hard  winter  it  acted  like  a  drug — a  dim,  inattentive  kind- 
ness seemed  to  pervade  the  world,  so  that  she  could  not 
believe  the  cruelty  of  its  emptiness  to  be  quite  final,  and 
the  little  birds  that  nestled  in  Elsie's  heart  began  to  sing 
again.  She  was  drowsy  with  spring  air  and  with  nearly 
twenty-four  hours  of  happy,  high-strung  and  excited 
nerves,  and  all  her  hopes  and  fears,  and  her  whole  ca- 
pacity for  feeling  began  to  take  on  a  tone  of  unreality. 
It  was  like  a  dream  that  she  should  be  standing  there 
watching  for  Ned — Ned  the  protective,  the  independent, 
the  capable  and  gay — there  was  something  dreamy  in  the 
look  of  the  dusty  room,  lighted  by  that  strange  mingling 
of  gaslight  and  of  sunshine,  the  make-up  on  the  shelves 
showing  crude  and  raw  in  so  much  glare,  the  oddly  as- 
sorted clothes  of  differing  times  and  countries  dangling 
unconvincingly  on  the  walls,  the  quiet  intensified  by 
fragments  of  sound  from  where,  three  flights  below,  there 
was  so  much  warmth  and  mellow  brightness,  and  strenu- 
ous, romantic  action  sweeping  inexorably  on,  and  round 
the  whole  that  other  world  of  the  street  noises,  and  the 
cool,  indifferent  sunny  afternoon. 

Victoria's  voice  sounded  at  the  door:  "Elsie — ?" 
' '  Come  on, ' '  she  continued.  ' '  You  come  down  and  dress 
for  the  second  act." 

"He  may  come  yet,"  said  Elsie,  following  her;  "He 
has  lots  of  time. ' ' 


72  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Oh,  I  guess  so,"  Victoria  answered,  vaguely. 

They  met  the  stage  manager  on  their  own  landing. 
"Oh,  Miss  Lee,"  said  he,  "is  Mr.  Farnum  upstairs?" 

"No,"  said  Elsie.     "I  expect  him  every  moment." 

"Well,  in  case  I  don't  see  him,  I  wish  you'd  tell  him 
Miss  Leonard  wants  him  not  to  anticipate  his  cue  the 
way  he  does.  He  enters  on  her  'That  is  my  answer'  and 
it  cuts  right  into  her  climax. ' ' 

' '  That  'a  the  cue  in  his  part, ' '  said  Elsie.  "  It 's  always 
been  done  that  way. ' ' 

"Well,  Miss  Leonard  says  he  shouldn't  do  it  any  more. 
He  can  take  Miss  Graham 's  next  lines  and  enter  on  that. 
If  you  see  him  I  wish  you  would  tell  him.  He  ought  to 
be  here  now." 

"  I  '11  tell  him, ' '  replied  the  girl,  "  I  'm  sure  to  see  him. ' ' 

She  had  begun  to  wake,  and  while  she  changed  her 
dress  two  panoramas  moved  simultaneously  and  with 
equal  clearness  in  her  mind.  She  saw  the  nine  years  of 
Ned's  apprenticeship,  their  obscurity,  their  drudgery, 
their  poverty,  and  suddenly  this  great  light  upon  the 
road,  this  door  set  wide — a  New  York  opening  and  the 
favor  of  the  great  Engle ;  and  she  beheld  upon  the  other 
side  the  emergency,  the  flight  of  time,  Ned  shackled 
somewhere,  helpless,  and  the  powerful  Miss  Leonard 
awaiting  an  occasion  to  destroy  him. 

' '  Second  act, ' '  came  the  noise  of  the  call-boy  above  the 
distant  orchestral  droning  of  "Reveries  After  the  Ball" 
—"Second  act." 

When  she  reached  the  stage  she  found  Miss  Leonard 
feeding  the  ponies  with  her  maid  at  her  elbow.  "A 
moment,  please,  Miss  Lee, ' '  said  the  star,  severely.  ' '  My 
stage  manager  tells  me  that  Mr,  Farnum  isn't  here?" 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  73 

' '  He  has  a  whole  act  yet, ' '  said  Elsie,  speaking  the  top 
of  her  thought. 

"There  was  a  notice  put  up  on  the  call-board  that 
every  member  of  this  company  was  to  be  in  the  theatre 
by  seven-thirty  for  the  evening  performances,  and  one- 
thirty  for  the  matinees. ' ' 

She  spoke  as  though  Elsie  were  in  some  way  guiltily 
responsible  for  this  fact,  and  Elsie  answered  meekly, 
"As  Ned  isn't  on  till  nearly  four,  he  thought  possibly 
it  didn  't  include  him. ' ' 

' '  And  I  hope  he  won 't  come  bursting  on  in  the  middle 
of  my  line  any  more,"  continued  Miss  Leonard,  "but 
will  wait  for  the  cue  as  he  was  rehearsed.  Of  course — " 
[the  ponies,  as  they  chewed  the  apples  she  held  out  to 
them,  spit  and  slathered  over  her  hands,  and  as  she 
talked  she  extended  these  to  her  maid  to  have  them 
wiped] — "Of  course  he  gets  a  reception,  or  the  situation 
gets  it,  he's  been  talked  about  so  much,  and  I  have  to 
stand  around  like  a  dummy  on  my  own  stage.  Good 
God,  Felice!  Have  you  got  pins  in  your  hands?  Oh, 
yes,  that  ring  always  does  do  that.  And  where  is  he,  at 
any  rate,  at  this  time  of  day  ? ' ' 

"Why,"  said  Elsie,  "he  went  to  the  dentist's." 

She  uttered  this  astounding  lie  with  the  same  bright 
airiness  that  was  instinctive  in  the  gentleness  of 
her  voice,  the  soft  pride  of  her  pretty  movements.  As 
to  how  it  came  into  her  head  or  out  of  her  mouth  she  had 
no  idea  whatever,  but  the  moment  it  was  spoken  she  per- 
ceived its  possibilities  of  extension.  Ned  overcome  by 
gas,  Ned  fainting,  unconscious  and  so  blameless — and  she 
caught  her  breath  almost  with  a  sob. 

"Matinee  day's  a  funny  time  to  go  to  the  dentist's," 


74  MERELY  PLAYERS 

said  Miss  Leonard,  and  Elsie's  leaping  heart  sank  low 
again  and  acknowledged  the  justice  of  the  suggestion. 

"He's  been  every  day  this  week,"  she  declared, 
and  gazed  with  an  appalled  and  impersonal  wonder  at 
her  own  mendacity. 

"Well,  I  hope  he  won't  come  on  to  my  stage  smelling 
like  a  hospital.  Ahhn,  angh,  Naughty!" — to  the  greed- 
ier pony.  "He'll  get  in  here  late,  and  come  on  with  a 
blotchy  make-up.  Tell  that  super  to  go  away!  Tell 
him  to  go  away.  Orion  will  kick  him ! ' ' 

"Never  in  this  mortal  world,"  said  Sammy  Torrance, 
the  young  fellow  to  whom  this  last  appeal  had  been  ad- 
dressed. "Neither  Orion  nor  Jupiter  ever  did  anything 
so  forth-putting  in  their  blameless  lives."  He  cast  a 
glance  after  the  slowly  departing  super  and  said:  "I 
am  far  more  likely  to  kick  him  if  he  and  his  friends  don 't 
march  a  little  faster  in  the  Floral  Fete.  One  of  them  is 
always  under  my  feet  when  Ned  Farnum  enters. ' ' 

"Something  was  the  matter  with  my  carriage-wheel 
last  night,"  said  Miss  Leonard.  "I  thought  we  should 
never  get  across.  The  way  Potter  runs  that  stage  I 
daresay  he'll  be  delighted  when  we  stick  in  the  middle 
of  it  some  night. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  but  you  won 't  do  it,  will  you  ? ' '  cried  Sammy — 
he  was  the  villain  in  the  play.  "You  wouldn't  spoil  the 
only  scene  that  the  Tame — that  Jupiter  and  Orion  have 
got,  by  stopping  before  I  stopped  you  and  Ned  had 
stopped  my  stopping  you,  just  to  gratify  Potter,  would 
you?" 

Miss  Leonard  hesitated  between  the  phrases.  "You 
think  you're  funny,  don't  you?"  and  "I  hope  Mr.  Far- 
num will  be  here  for  his  entrance,"  and  had  just  de- 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  75 

cided  upon  the  latter  as  the  more  dignified,  when  the 
stage  manager  bowingly  attracted  her  attention. 

' '  Your  cue,  Miss  Leonard, ' '  said  he,  in  a  tone  suggest- 
ing conscious  iniquity  in  bringing  such  a  circumstance 
to  her  notice. 

As  she  swept  away,  the  young  villain  laid  a  kind  hand 
on  Elsie's  shoulder.  "Keep  up!"  he  whispered,  "he'll 
get  here." 

"Oh!"  cried  Elsie,  in  gratitude.  Tears  of  nervous- 
ness gathered  in  her  eyes  and  overflowed. 

With  a  ' '  Have  pity  on  your  make-up ! "  he  had  to 
leave  her  in  his  turn,  and  she  stood  blotting  the  destruc- 
tive teardops  with  her  hand  and  trying  not  to  shiver. 
This  was  becoming  a  life  and  death  business,  and  the 
world  was  hard. 

Her  best  bit  of  comedy  came  next,  and  she  played  it 
woodenly  with  her  eyes  behind  the  scenes.  The  theatre 
was  one  of  those  where  the  backdoor  opens  directly  from 
the  right  hand  of  the  stage  onto  the  alley.  The  door  hyp- 
notized Elsie  with  the  feeling  that  it  might  open  at  any 
moment  to  admit  Ned.  Here  and  there  during  the  scene 
she  could  catch  glimpses  of  it,  and  once  or  twice  a  draught 
across  the  stage  told  her  that  some  one  had  tiptoed 
through  it,  though  she  could  not  see  whom.  She  fretted 
at  being  on  till  the  end  of  the  act,  but  when  the  curtain 
fell  she  wished  it  might  have  stayed  up  a  little  longer. 
If  he  were  upstairs,  all  was  well  with  the  world,  but  if 
he  were  not  upstairs,  if — She  could  hardly  bring  her- 
self to  mount  the  steps,  the  chattering,  hurrying  crowd 
jostled  around  her  and  pushed  past,  and  she  crept  up- 
ward clinging  to  the  baluster,  a  little  hysterical  and  a 
little  sick. 


76  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Suddenly,  as  she  was  starting  up  the  third  flight,  she 
was  aware  of  Victoria  coming  down,  and  Victoria  shook 
her  head.  Elsie  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  piteously 
regarded  the  other  girl.  Her  lips  and  her  hands  trem- 
bled, for  a  minute  she  could  not  speak,  and  when  she 
could,  she  said,  ''What  shall  I  do,  Victoria?  Victoria, 
what  can  I  do  for  him  ? ' ' 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  said  Victoria.  She  drew 
the  girl  back  into  their  own  dressing-room,  pushed  her 
into  a  chair  and  shut  the  door.  "Elsie,"  she  began, 
"you  can't  keep  on  like  this.  You  can't  let  the  third  act 
go  on  unless  Ned's  here.  You've  got  to  tell  the  man- 
agement ! ' ' 

"No!"  cried  Elsie,  and  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stood 
facing  Victoria  as  though  Victoria  were  Miss  Leonard 
and  the  world. 

"You've  got  to.  The  whole  third  act,  the  whole 
climax  of  the  piece,  depends  on  him.  If  they  expected 
him  to  enter  and  he  didn't,  they'd  have  to  ring  the  cur- 
tain down.  They  couldn't  finish  the  piece.  Why, 
they  'd  make  it  their  business  to  kill  him  with  every  man- 
ager in  the  country,  and  they'd  have  a  right  to.  It 
would  ruin  him ! ' ' 

' '  He  said  he  'd  be  here, ' '  persisted  Elsie,  ' '  and  he  will. 
I  know  he  will.  He  said  so."  All  her  pretty  lady 
airs  were  rent  and  useless,  and  fluttered  in  her  manner 
like  torn  laces.  Her  face  was  drawn  and  wild  and  trem- 
bled foolishly ;  it  had  a  kind  of  childish  obstinacy  and  a 
childish  terror  in  it. 

' '  And  see  here ! ' '  went  on  Victoria.  "  It 's  natural  you 
should  do  all  you  can  for  yourself  and  Ned,  Elsie,  no- 
body knows  what  it  means  to  you  better  than  I  do  ;  but 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  77 

after  all,  you're  on  the  salary  list  of  this  company,  and 
you  sort  of  owe  it  to  the  whole  thing  not  to  let  the  per- 
formance go  to  pieces.  It's  only  decent  you  should  be 
honest  about  this. ' ' 

"I'd  rather  be  honest  to  Ned  than  to  Miss  Leonard," 
said  Elsie. 

' '  Honest  to  Ned !  And  what  do  you  think  Ned  would 
say?  I'll  bet  wherever  he  is,  he's  comforting  himself 
thinking  one  thing.  '  I  'm  not  there,  but  Elsie  is ;  she  '11 
do  her  best  for  me.  She'll  make  some  excuse  to  Miss 
Leonard  in  time,  and  they'll  fix  up  my  understudy  and 
get  the  piece  through  somehow,  and  very  likely  there 
won't  be  anything  worse  than  a  big  row  when  I  do  get 
there?'  " 

The  habit  of  quick  changing  is  so  old  and  so  strong 
that  all  the  time  they  talked  the  two  girls  had  been  un- 
dressing, and  Victoria's  last  words  came  muffled  through 
the  skirt  she  was  sliding  over  her  head.  The  hook  caught 
in  her  hair,  she  felt  Elsie  disentangle  it,  and  when  she 
had  emerged  from  it  Elsie  was  looking  at  her  more  stead- 
ily, and  saying,  "Miss  Leonard's  always  hated  him. 
But  you're  quite  right,  Victoria." 

"That's  a  good  girl.  Now  you  hurry  up.  They'll  be 
calling  the  act  in  a  minute,  and  you're  not  half  dressed. 
OH!"  For  at  that  moment  the  yowl  of  the  property 
boy  calling  the  third  act  sounded  almost  at  their  door. 

"You  dress!"  said  Victoria  to  Elsie,  and  sticking  her 
own  head  out  of  the  door,  "Grady,"  she  called  to  the 
property  boy. 

"Third  act,"  continued  that  vocalist,  "third— huh?" 

"Grady,  come  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Grady, 
won't  you  please  stop  calling  the  act  and  run  down  to 


78  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Mr.  Potter  and  tell  him  not  to  ring  up — not  to  ring  up 
on  any  account  till  Miss  Lee 's  dressed.  Tell  him  to  have 
another  overture." 

"What's  the  matter  with  'er?"  asked  Grady. 

"She's  got  to  tell  Miss  Leonard  something  very  im- 
portant. She 's  got  to ! " 

"Aw,  well,"  said  Grady,  "act's  called— third  act." 

"Oh,  hush!  See  here,  Grady,  Mr.  Farnum's  not — 
not  here!" 

"Hey?  Oh,  God!"  said  Grady,  and  they  could  hear 
the  haw-haw  of  his  ill-judged  mirth  as  he  hurriedly  clut- 
tered down  the  stairs. 

Still  hooking  and  buttoning,  Elsie  ran  after  him  with 
Victoria  in  her  wake.  On  the  first  landing  the  girls  were 
stopped  by  the  sound  of  the  curtain-music  and  the  next 
instant  they  beheld  Grady  ascending  toward  them, 
spreading  out  his  arms  and  widening  his  features  in  deri- 
sion and  dismay.  "Act's  on!"  said  he. 

It  was  the  irrevocable.  Elsie  put  her  hands  over  her 
face. 

"Not  my  fault,"  said  Grady.  "I  seen  her  and  Potter 
in  the  entrance  and  I  hollered  to  him,  '  Mr.  Potter,  don 't 
ring  up!'  She  was  lettin'  out  her  jaw  on  him,  about 
the  band  not  bein'  loud  enough  in  the  Flawral  Fete,  an' 
he  didnun  hear  me.  'Mr.  Potter,'  I  says,  an'  just  then 
he  gave  the  signal  an '  up  she  goes. ' ' 

"Thanks,  Grady,"  said  Elsie.  She  put  her  hand  on 
his  sleeve  as  she  went  past  him,  and  he  turned  quietly 
and  followed  her. 

At  the  same  time  a  super  who  had  started  upstairs 
stopped  at  the  sight  of  her  and  said,  "They're  calling 
you,  Miss  Lee." 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  79 

"Miss  Lee!  Miss  Lee!"  cried  Mr.  Potter.  "Hurry, 
Miss  Lee ! ' ' 

"Where's  Miss  Leonard?"  said  Elsie.  "I  must  see 
her.  Ned's—" 

"Go  on !  the  stage  is  waiting ! ' '  and  Mr.  Potter  in  his 
most  justifiable  wrath  gave  her  a  little  push.  The  young 
fellow  who  played  opposite  to  her  was  already  glancing 
off  the  entrance,  and  she  went  forward  to  meet  him  and 
spoke  her  line. 

Grady,  who  was  watching  her  beside  Victoria,  whis- 
pered: "It'll  finish  Farnum  with  the  management." 

"Yes.  Wait!  I'll — who's  Mr.  Farnum 's  under- 
study?" 

"Johnson,  he's  home  with  the  grip.  One  o'  the  boys 
is  goin '  on  for  him. ' ' 

"We  can't  do  anything  then,"  said  Victoria,  and  she 
turned  and  went  to  walking  by  herself  behind  the  back- 
drop. 

Meanwhile,  Elsie,  after  her  first  speech,  had  turned  her 
back  on  the  audience  and  whispered  to  young  Maltham, 
her  partner  in  the  comedy  scene,  "Play  it  slow — I  beg 
of  you ! ' '  she  added. 

The  bewildered  gentleman  endeavored  to  comply,  but 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  play  a  scene  slowly  which  one  has 
carefully  learned  to  play  fast,  and,  with  every  will  to 
oblige,  the  boy  found  himself  speaking  nimbly.  Not  so 
Elsie.  She  was  like  a  person  in  the  first  stage  of  intox- 
ication, when  the  mind  is  miraculously  clear,  quick,  and 
light,  full  of  resource,  deft  of  accomplishment,  and  cour- 
ageous in  a  singular  detachment  from  the  world.  She 
invented  "business,"  and  did  it  with  ease;  she  spoke 
slowly,  she  made  tremendous  pauses,  and  yet  she  was  so 


80  MERELY  PLAYERS 

pretty  and  her  face  was  so  bright  with  laughter,  and  she 
filled  in  her  stops  with  motions  and  grimaces  so  arch  and 
cunning  that  the  audience  scarcely  knew  how  the  scene 
dragged.  The  poor  young  man  stumbled  after  her  in 
bewilderment;  behind  the  canvas-drop  of  their  little 
front  scene  the  "Floral  Fete"  was  being  set  with  bumps 
and  clamor,  and  the  sound  of  pounding  ropes  that 
would  not  lash,  and  all  the  time  that  Elsie  coquetted  with 
her  lines  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  only  a  sense  of 
hearing,  which  listened  for  a  footfall  and  the  closing  of 
the  stage  door.  She  believed  that  she  would  be  able  to 
hear  him,  that  she  would  know  if  he  came  in;  she  was 
conscious  of  nothing  but  her  listening,  and  the  color 
blazed  up  under  her  rouge  and  her  eyes  were  bright  as 
fever. 

Miss  Leonard  came  out  of  her  dressing-room  and  said 
to  Grady, ' '  Ned  Farnum  come  yet  ? ' ' 

Grady  looked  her  blankly  in  the  face  and  said: 
"Yes'm."  When  she  turned  away  he  put  his  tongue  in 
his  cheek,  but  he  rolled  his  eyes  in  a  terror  that  could  not 
have  been  wholly  simulated. 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  girl?"  said  Miss  Leon- 
ard. "She's  dragged  that  scene  three  minutes."  And 
just  then  Elsie,  able  no  longer  to  put  off  the  inevitable, 
made  her  laughing  exit  with  the  young  man;  the  dark 
change  pounced  upon  the  house,  withdrew  again  and  dis- 
closed the  Floral  Fete. 

This  was  heralded  as  among  the  most  elaborate,  as  it 
was  certainly  among  the  prettiest,  of  stage  settings.  The 
scene  represented  a  park  in  some  old  town  whose  foreign 
quality  was  indicated  by  palms  and  white  umbrellas. 
Besides  the  painted  drops  and  properties,  trailing  vines, 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  81 

potted  plants,  and  stands  of  bright-colored  foliage  were 
everywhere,  a  crowd  in  gay  summer  fineries  prome- 
naded and  chattered  in  a  manner  ingenuously  sugges- 
tive of  a  comic  opera,  and  a  band,  composed  of  all  the 
musicians  in  the  orchestra,  sat  in  a  bandstand  draped 
with  pink  bunting,  and  faced  across  the  stage,  the  judges 
in  their  platform  decked  with  flags  and  flowers.  Nightly 
some  few  hired  horses,  pranked  out  just  prettily  enough 
and  drawing  carriages  filled  with  extra  girls,  defiled 
across  the  stage;  nightly,  after  an  appreciable  interval, 
Jupiter  and  Orion,  glossy  and  combed  and  crimped,  half 
hidden  in  white  roses  and  streaked  with  silken  reins, 
came  ambling  to  their  triumph;  they  dragged  a  little 
basket-phaeton  above  which  swayed  two  eagles  bearing 
in  their  beaks  a  canopy  of  the  American  flag,  and  the 
eagles,  the  flag  and,  seemingly,  the  phaeton  were  made 
of  flowers;  nightly,  in  this  bright  bower,  Miss  Leonard 
sat  erect,  all  satin  and  lace  and  gems,  her  reins  in  one 
hand,  her  useless  blossoming  parasol  in  the  other;  and 
nightly,  by  her  side,  in  meeker  organdie,  Elsie,  as  the 
ingenue  and  friend,  made  herself  as  small  as  possible. 

Then  would  the  judges  rise  inthralled  and,  being 
seemingly  partial  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  award  to  this 
equipage  the  crown  for  the  best  decorated  carriage. 
Then  would  the  band  descend  and  place  itself  at  the  head 
of  Jupiter  and  Orion,  and  to  the  tune  of  the  "Star 
Spangled  Banner,"  the  conquerors  would  sweep  once 
and  a  half  around  the  stage. 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  turn,  as  the  carriage 
reached  the  center,  out  would  come  the  villain  clutching 
at  Orion's  bridle,  calling  upon  the  fete  to  cease,  and 
falsely  denouncing  as  an  adventuress  and  a  political  spy 


82  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  lovely  heroine,  an  American  lady  of  an  innocent  but 
clouded  past.  Then  Ned  Farnum,  in  his  American 
naval  uniform,  would  push  through  the  crowd  and  burst 
into  the  defense  of  that  wronged  lady,  and  thence  would 
the  scene  sweep  to  its  finale,  Miss  Leonard  and  Ned  car- 
rying all  before  them,  and  the  leading  man,  up  in  his 
dressing-room,  denouncing  to  himself  "these  'bits'  that 
come  on  and  hog  everything!" 

Now,  as  usual,  as  the  round  of  applause  for  the  pret- 
tiness  of  the  stage  died  away,  Miss  Leonard  stepped  into 
the  phaeton  and  Elsie  crawled  in  after  her  and  sat  down. 

As  long  as  she  lived  she  would  remember  the  sickness 
and  the  terror  of  that  time,  for  she  was  not  courageous, 
and  she  had  inwardly  committed  herself  to  a  desperate 
expedient.  She  was  going  to  take  Ned's  old  cue,  stand 
up  in  the  phaeton  and  faint.  She  bitterly  reflected  that 
if  she  should  fall  out  of  the  side  of  the  phaeton  and 
break  her  neck,  it  would  be  the  best  thing  possible;  at 
the  same  time  the  prospect  seemed  a  trifle  dolorous.  In 
a  side  light  of  hysteria  she  saw  Miss  Leonard  having  her 
swept  out  of  the  way  like  a  dustheap  and  pushing  for- 
ward with  the  scene;  in  any  event  she  knew  she  should 
do  the  thing  badly.  She  saw  herself,  with  her  eyes  glued 
together,  trying  to  deceive  the  doctor,  and  she  saw  her- 
self found  out,  with  her  engagement  lost  as  well  as 
Ned's;  but  through  these  dismal  counsels  she  held  fast 
to  the  idea  that  it  was  one  more  chance  for  Ned,  that  it 
was  all  she  could  do  for  him,  and  she  felt  the  phaeton 
move  forward  into  the  familiar  scene,  and  kept  her  hold 
upon  her  resolution. 

All  went  as  usual.     The  gay  little  equipage  received 


83 

its  customary  tribute,  Miss  Leonard  smacked  gently 
at  the  Tameless  Team  to  quicken  their  pace,  and  the 
Tameless  responded  by  going  a  little  slower  and  ogling 
down  at  their  plump  feet  with  their  huge  sleepy  eyes. 
The  judges  were  as  enthralled  as  ever,  the  crown  was  be- 
stowed, the  phaeton  began  to  creep  forward  again  on  its 
triumphal  course,  with  Miss  Leonard  bowing  to  the 
plaudits  of  the  stage  crowd,  and  Elsie,  an  inert  mass  of 
ruffles  and  misery,  cowering  beside  her.  Step  by  step 
poor  Elsie  was  being  drawn  nearer  to  the  abyss,  bit  by 
bit  the  ground  was  being  broken  from  beneath  her  feet. 
and  when  the  carriage  stopped  before  the  onslaught  of 
the  villain  she  knew  the  last  dear  barrier  was  down  and 
she  began  to  gather  in  her  skirts  with  a  trembling  hand, 
preparatory  to  her  leap  into  that  gulf  of  terror.  She 
saw  Victoria,  anxious-eyed,  sitting  on  a  bench;  she 
heard  the  voice  of  the  villain,  oddly  weak  and  nervous 
in  his  knowledge  and  his  kind  dismay ;  she  saw  him  fling 
out  his  arm  in  denunciation  without  his  usual  calculated 
care,  and  she  saw  it  strike  against  the  cornet  of  a  man  in 
the  band  who  was  standing  too  near  to  him.  The  man, 
in  the  unapproachable  apathy  of  an  "extra,"  had  been 
gaping  into  space,  the  cornet  flew  out  of  his  hand  and 
landed  with  a  surprising  clangor  at  Jupiter's  very  feet; 
the  horror  of  the  noise  reverberated  in  Elsie's  heart  as 
she  closed  her  eyes,  clutched  her  skirts  and  forced  her 
stiffening  bones  to  rise  when  the  heroine  should  reply, 
and  at  that  moment,  as  though  by  an  upheaval  of  the  solid 
earth,  she  was  thrown  back  upon  the  seat,  swept  round 
in  a  strange,  grinding  turn  and  swung  against  the  side 
of  the  phaeton,  with  the  phaeton  itself  whirling  toward 


84  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  footlights.  Fate  and  the  cornet  had  done  what  nei- 
ther blows  nor  bribes  had  yet  achieved,  and  the  Tame- 
less Team  had  quickened  its  pace  at  last. 

The  ponies  were  headed  straight  for  the  audience.  In 
one  moment  of  pandemonium,  strangely  brief,  strangely 
prolonged,  Elsie  beheld  the  crowded  faces  before  her, 
paling,  screaming,  rising  and  huddling  into  one  blur  of 
terrified  people,  heard  shouts  before  and  behind  her,  had 
a  strange  bewildered  notion  of  the  blackness  of  the  audi- 
torium and  of  the  intervening  band  of  glare,  felt  herself 
quakingly,  exhilaratingly  aware  that  even  in  this  une- 
ventful, mortal  life  the  old,  impossible  bugaboo  was  to  be 
realized,  that  the  ponies  were  really  going  to  go  over  the 
footlights,  that,  good  heavens !  they  were  going  over  them 
— and  in  the  same  instant  with  a  terrific,  joggling  jar  she 
was  arrested  upon  the  brink  of  this  gulf  as  upon  that 
of  the  other,  and  the  phaeton,  having  crashed  into  the 
footlights,  remained  there  tipped  a  little  forward,  while 
the  hind  hoofs  of  the  ponies,  who  were  suspended  by 
their  harness,  threshed  in  madness  on  the  floor  of  the 
orchestra  and  knocked  the  musicians'  chairs  to  splinters. 

Elsie  sat  there  in  the  phaeton  and  gaped  down  at  the 
ponies  in  a  shaken  bewilderment  and  relief.  She  saw  the 
broken  carriage-pole  sticking  up  out  of  the  ground  into 
which  in  some  way  it  had  jammed  itself,  but  the  amount 
of  luck  which  the  fact  contained  was  lost  upon  her,  and 
indeed  it  was  almost  in  the  moment  of  their  pause  that 
Miss  Leonard  ejaculated  "Out !"  and  pushed  her  smartly 
from  the  phaeton.  People  were  already  round  as  she 
scrambled  to  the  stage,  for  the  scattered  Floral  Fete  had 
turned  again  toward  the  scene  of  action,  and  Victoria 
had  already  gotten  hold  of  Elsie's  hand  when  the  voice 


THE  TAMELESS  TEAM  85 

of  Miss  Leonard  pierced  and  shrilly  commanded  the  hub- 
bub; ''Don't  you  hurt  those  horses!  Don't  you  touch 
'em!" 

The  people  in  the  audience  were  now  beginning  to 
realize  that  they  were  not  going  to  be  trampled  to  death ; 
those  who  had  left  their  seats  returned  slowly  toward 
them,  the  gallery  boys  shouted  advice,  a  woman  gave  way 
to  hysterical  laughter  and  some  few  men  came  speeding 
down  the  aisles  bent  on  assistance. 

Of  these  last  Miss  Leonard  took  stock  in  a  brief  sur- 
vey and  then  turned  an  eye  upon  the  stage.  "You, 
Grady!"  she  called,  "you  and  Jake  help  me — Here!" 
to  an  amateur  assistant  at  the  orchestra  rail,  "there's  a 
chair,  there,  under  the  box.  You  come  into  the  orches- 
tra and  hold  it  for  me — hold  it!"  Whereupon,  with 
a  wholly  matter-of-fact  display  of  white  silk  stockings, 
she  climbed  briskly  to  the  ground.  . 

Jake  and  Grady  followed  her,  but  it  was  she  who  came 
the  quickest  to  the  closest  quarters,  who  cut  straps  and  un- 
buckled them  with  the  deftest  hand,  and  threw  her  rapid 
orders  here  and  there  with  a  decisive  tongue.  The  two 
shirt-sleeved  stage  hands  and  their  more  decorously  cos- 
tumed assistants  made  an  obedient  group  about  Miss 
Leonard's  tall,  plump  figure  in  its  satin  and  jewels  and 
lace  and  with  the  crown  of  the  Floral  Fete  tumbling 
askew  in  her  bleached  hair.  When  they  drew  back  from 
her  she  held  the  trembling,  shivering  Orion  by  his  bridle, 
and,  in  the  hands  of  Jake  and  Grady,  the  still  rearing 
Jupiter  stood  close  behind. 

"You  must  all  keep  quiet  and  keep  back  while  I  lead 
'em  out, ' '  she  called  to  the  audience ;  and  it  was  she  who 
coaxed  Orion  from  the  orchestra  and  led  him  up  the 


86  MERELY  PLAYERS 

aisle  and  out  into  the  street.  Grady  and  Jake  followed 
cautiously  with  Jupiter,  and  in  the  tense  stillness  of 
their  exit  Elsie  heard  the  bang  of  the  stage  door  and 
the  sound  of  a  footstep  racing  up  the  stairs. 

Miss  Leonard  came  back  smiling  and  wiping  her  hands 
on  her  skirt.  She  regained  the  stage  by  a  door  behind 
the  boxes,  and  she  said  to  the  stage  manager,  who  was 
gasping  over  this  most  disturbing  incident  of  his  career : 
" You'd  better  ring  down  a  minute,  Potter." 

It  was  only  for  a  minute.  The  phaeton  was  already 
being  rolled  away,  one  of  the  hired  rigs  with  its  mere 
livery-stable  horse  was  brought  back  onto  the  stage,  and 
Miss  Leonard  and  Elsie  got  into  it.  ' '  Oh,  Ned ! ' '  cried  the 
tempest-tossed  heart  of  Elsie.  ' '  Oh,  Ned,  hurry,  hurry ! ' ' 

Ah,  but  there  was  applause  and  plenty  of  it  when  the 
curtain  rose  and  the  audience  beheld  Miss  Leonard,  to 
the  tune  of  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner,"  once  more 
driving  round  the  stage !  Once  more  the  villain  stopped 
her  progress  and  accused  her,  and  once  more  she  replied. 
Just  then  there  was  a  little  movement  near  the  entrance, 
and  as  Miss  Graham,  the  villainess,  gave  the  new  cue, 
the  crowd  was  pushed  aside,  and,  in  his  American  uni- 
form, with  his  bright,  boyish,  adventurous  look  of  the 
young  rescuer,  Ned  Farnum  stepped  upon  the  stage 
and  spoke  his  first  line. 

That  night,  when  Victoria  came  downstairs  for  the 
third  act,  she  found  Ned  and  Elsie  feeding  finely  sliced 
carrots  to  the  Tameless,  who  had  sunk  once  more  into 
apathy.  Victoria  smiled  grimly. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "it  seems  about  the  least  you  can 
do  for  them." 


IN  AUGUST 


IN  AUGUST 

WESTON  toiled  up  the  long  stairs  of  the  boarding- 
house,  through  halls  whose  dingy  twilight  seemed 
like  benevolence  after  the  torrid  street.  Several  open 
doors  gave  glimpses  of  gay,  untidy  rooms;  past  these 
Weston  cautiously,  morosely  skulked.  He  was  afraid  of 
being  haled  in  to  rest  and  cheer,  and  he  had  no  stomach 
for  the  indifferent,  kindly  pity  of  strange  actors — 
actors  who  had  work,  actresses  who  were  strong  and 
well  and  not  married  to  unsuccessful,  worthless  hus- 
bands. When  he  reached  the  threshold  of  that  fourth- 
floor  back  where  his  wife  would  be  smiling  to  him  from 
the  sofa,  he  stopped  outside  the  door,  got  his  breath, 
wiped  his  face,  and  called  up  a  nervous,  unconvincing 
cheeriness  of  aspect. 

But  she  was,  after  all,  asleep.  He  assured  himself 
of  this  by  a  second  glance;  noticing  that  the  sun  from 
the  open  window  was  beating  on  her  face,  he  crossed 
the  room  and  pulled  the  blind  a  little  lower  before  he 
dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  staring  at  her  as  if  she 
had  been  incarnate  fate.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
looked  not  so  much  ill  as  thoroughly  and  absolutely  tired 
of  the  world.  This  fatigue,  this  indifference,  made  him 
almost  afraid  of  her.  He  told  himself  that  she  had  no 
grasp  of  life,  that  she  would  let  it  slip  from  between  her 
fingers  with  as  little  interest  as  she  had  the  open  letter 
which  had  'fallen  beside  her  lounge.  He  felt  himself 

89 


90  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Shiver  in  the  hot  room ;  then  he  felt  the  fever,  the  stifled 
threatening  of  the  day,  more  appallingly  than  before. 
In  a  passion  of  unreason  he  cursed  the  house  and  the 
inhuman  creatures  in  it  who  had  let  her  lie  there  so 
near  the  window  in  the  streaming  heat;  his  glance 
strayed  from  the  dropped  letter  to  the  envelope  which 
lay  farther  along  the  carpet  in  front  of  the  door;  he 
thought  that  probably  a  breeze  had  blown  away  the  en- 
velope as  it  closed  the  door,  and  then  he  cursed  them 
that  they  had  let  her  lie  there  in  a  draught.  The  whole 
miserable  universe  was  conspiring  to  take  her  from  him ! 
He  had  been  all  day  at  the  agencies.  His  conscience, 
since  they  had  begun  to  owe  the  landlady,  had  made 
rather  a  point  of  his  not  being  at  home  for  lunch;  but 
he  had  forgotten  his  appetite,  at  any  rate,  in  that  search 
for  work.  He  had  been  searching  for  it  so  long!  He 
had  worn  out  the  whole  summer  climbing  those  stairs, 
hanging  in  those  doorways,  trying  to  crack  jokes  across 
the  damnable  wire  fences  behind  which  sat  enthroned 
those  oracles  of  life  and  death  who  held  close  behind 
their  complacent  lips  the  secrets  and  the  favors  of  the 
managerial  gods.  He  had  been  prowling  there  in  the 
early  spring  when  the  gaily  dressed  crowds  were 
threaded  every  now  and  then  by  brisk  celebrities;  he 
had  seen  the  crowds  melt  and  vanish  in  the  summer 
heat,  gone  to  Europe  after  clothes,  to  farmhouses  to 
economize,  to  summer  stock  companies,  not  one  of  which 
wanted  "Weston — though  they  seemed  to  want  plenty  of 
other  people  a  good  deal  like  him,  except  that  they  were 
apt  to  be  less  competent  and  could  not  be  had  so  cheap. 
He  saw  the  time  when,  during  the  long  fainting  days, 
almost  nobody  came  into  the  offices,  and  he  was  left  face 


IN  AUGUST  91 

to  face  with  the  relaxed  awfulness  of  the  agents,  who 
took  to  cigars  and  newspapers,  or  to  tatting,  according 
to  their  sex.  And  now  the  time  had  come  when  the 
crowds  were  back  again,  and  once  more  the  managers 
threw  their  handkerchiefs,  and  once  more  Weston  stood, 
unchosen,  in  the  mob.  It  was  the  last  stage  and  the 
worst.  He  had  been  welcome  for  his  company  in  July's 
empty  offices  where,  as  he  told  his  wife,  he  had  con- 
sistently practised  that  engaging  motto  for  the  shy: 
"Assume  an  easy  and  familiar  manner,  especially  with 
ladies."  But  now  with  the  advance  of  the  autumn 
business,  the  rush  and  tug  of  managers  who  wanted 
actors  and  actors  who  were  wanted,  Weston  was  forgot- 
ten; when  he  endeavored  to  recall  himself,  he  became 
something  of  a  bore.  In  the  twentieth  century  even 
oracles  must  eat,  and,  though  you  may  have  the  friend- 
liest wishes  toward  him,  there  is  no  profit  to  anybody 
in  sending  a  man  to  see  managers  whom  managers  do  not 
want  to  see! 

He  and  Grace  had  not  foreseen  quite  such  a  future 
when,  five  years  ago,  she  had  flown  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence and  married  him.  It  was  her  father  (who  had 
kept  a  candy  store  in  Milwaukee,  next  door  to  a  theatrical 
boarding-house)  who  had  shown  himself  astonishingly 
alive  to  the  situation,  and  had  accurately  and  enthu- 
siastically pointed  out  to  her  the  disadvantages  of  marry- 
ing an  actor.  What!  one  of  that  idle,  extravagant, 
shiftless  lot,  a  man  who  would  lie  in  bed  late  and  want 
his  breakfast  brought  up  to  him,  who  would  bring  beer 
into  the  house  in  a  pitcher,  and  play  pinochle  for  money ! 
Had  he  anything  to  support  a  wife  on?  Now  that  she 
had  got  herself  fairly  established  in  her  profession, 


92  MERELY  PLAYERS 

lucky  for  her  if  he  did  not  hang  around  out  of  work 
half  the  time  and  expect  her  to  support  him,  yes,  or 
take  her  money,  as  like  as  not,  and  spend  it  on  other 
women!  At  least  wait  till  she  was  twenty-five,  the 
family  council  had  implored,  before  she  married  and 
began  having  children  and  dropping  out  of  her  busi- 
ness for  a  year  or  two  at  a  time — that  was  the  sort  of 
thing  that  did  for  you  on  the  stage!  Weston's  whole 
tired  figure  gave  a  twitch;  he  seemed  to  feel  his  son's 
little  body  crowding  on  his  heart,  the  bits  of  fingers 
creeping  and  searching  over  his  face.  They  had  had 
to  send  the  child  back  to  Grace's  family  when  typhoid 
had  ravaged  the  mother  in  the  winter  that  was  past: 
Weston  could  not  but  suppose  that  it  would  have  found 
her  a  less  easy  victim  if  she  had  ever  been  really  well 
since  the  baby  came.  Her  people  had  been  very  kind 
about  the  baby;  they  could  not  blame  Weston  for  the 
necessity  of  parting  him  from  his  mother  since  other 
persons  beside  married  actresses  are  subject  to  typhoid ; 
at  the  same  time  it  all  seemed  to  them  only  another  mesh 
in  that  web  of  dreariness  and  failure  in  which  they  felt 
he  had  entangled  her.  Up  to  the  very  present  Weston 
had  never  failed  to  send  back  a  little  money  for  the 
boy's  expenses,  but  that  was  no  longer  possible.  The 
child  was  almost  nothing  to  him  as  yet,  in  comparison 
with  the  mother,  but  he  could  not  have  known  for  nearly 
two  years  that  helpless  life  of  his  first  son  and  not  feel 
the  sting  of  ceasing  to  be  its  providence.  Justly  or  un- 
justly, he  saw  himself  with  the  eyes  of  men  who  could 
at  least  pay  their  families'  board  bills;  he  thought  of 
one  fellow  in  particular  who  used  to  hang  around  Grace 
in  Milwaukee,  but  who  had  married  since  then  and  whose 


IN  AUGUST  93 

wife,  from  her  new  automobile,  had  nodded  condescend- 
ingly to  Grace  the  last  time  they  had  met.  He  wondered 
if  Grace  sometimes  remembered  whose  automobile  that 
might  have  been ;  he  himself  remembered  very  well  how 
he  used  to  guy  the  fellow  to  her!  His  heart  sank  now 
with  shame,  and  yet  with  a  touch  of  the  old  stupid 
jealousy,  and  he  had  such  a  sense  of  hatefulness  in  him- 
self that  there  seemed  no  distance  great  enough  to  divide 
him  from  her.  He  moved  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  the 
couch. 

The  hand  of  the  dollar  clock  on  the  mantlepiece  pointed 
to  five.  To-morrow  would  be  Saturday,  and  most  of  the 
offices  would  close  at  noon.  Practically  another  week 
was  gone,  and  at  this  time  of  year  that  meant  another 
week  nearer  to  the  gulf.  He  went  over  to  himself  the 
managers  he  had  seen  lately:  Melville,  the  romantic 
star,  who  had  thought  Weston  too  tall  to  play  with  him ; 
'Jervis,  the  author,  who  had  really  wanted  him  for 
"Captain  Bryee,"  if  only  he  had  been  large  enough  for 
a  guardsman;  Hendricks,  who  saw  him  in  reference  to 
the  juvenile  with  Kate  Erskine,  but  who  had  confided 
to  a  friend  that  he  would  make  her  look  like  his  grand- 
mother; the  Einslers,  who  had  been  favorably  impressed 
with  him,  but  who  hedged  on  hearing  him  ask  a  small 
salary  and  feared  to  trust  him  with  the  part ;  and  Lister, 
who  had  sent  for  him,  but  who,  having  employed  him 
when  he  first  went  on  the  stage,  refused  with  indignation 
to  pay  him  anything  beyond  the  meagre  salary  of  that 
time.  He  had  gone  back  to  Lister  the  next  day,  but 
the  part  was  filled.  He  would  never  have  let  the  miser- 
able chance  slip  in  the  first  place  if  he  had  not  been 
filled  with  hope  by  Ted  Chesney's  negotiations  with 


94  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Joseph  Lemuel,  if  Ches  had  not  encouraged  him  by  the 
wild  fantasia  of  getting  him  a  job  in  those  exalted  re- 
gions. "If  he  comes  to  my  terms,"  Ches  had  declared, 
"I  shall  have  charge  of  the  whole  show,  of  every  nail 
they  drive  on  this  side  of  the  footlights.  It's  that  for 
me,  or  nothing."  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  suppose 
that  a  good  fellow  like  Chesney  would  ever  get  any  such 
terms,  that  Melville  would  endure  tall  men  about  him, 
that  Jervis  would  prefer  art  to  weight  in  the  presentation 
of  a  guardsman !  Chesney 's  contingent  offer  had  been  his 
dearest  hope ;  he  took  out  of  his  pocket,  reread  and  tore 
into  bits  yesterday's  note  which  told  him  that  the  deal 
with  Lemuel  was  off.  Well,  one  thing  was  clear ;  chance 
after  chance,  they  had  all  slipped  out  of  his  hands  like 
water.  It  was  all  very  well  to  make  excuses  for  each 
individual  instance,  but  if  he  dared  look  in  the  face  the 
testimony  of  the  whole  summer  one  thing  was  certain; 
whatever  else  he  was  he  was  not  desirable. 

But  why  ?  That  was  what  he  could  not  help  torment- 
ing himself  with — why?  What  was  it?  He  put  aside 
at  once  all  question  of  his  ability.  In  that  he  did  not 
doubt  himself,  and,  if  he  did,  he  had  only  to  observe 
the  work  of  other  men  in  higher  places,  to  know  that 
it  was  not  their  ability  which  had  put  them  there.  Was 
there  something  wrong  with  him  then,  personally  ?  Was 
there  something  distasteful  in  his  appearance,  in  his 
manner,  differentiating  him  from  acceptable  heroes  and 
lovers?  For  a  long  time  now  he  had  searched  his  face, 
observed  his  carriage,  hated  his  own  smile,  his  own  voice, 
suspected  in  every  stirring  of  his  personality  some  pe- 
culiar and  invidious  distinction.  And  yet,  if  that  were 
so,  it  was  one  in  which  Grace  also  shared.  She,  too, 


IN  AUGUST  95 

when  she  was  able  to  go  out,  had  looked  for  work  and 
unavailingly — she  who  was  sweet  to  see  and  of  so  ap- 
pealing a  delicacy  and  charm!  Or  had  he  grown  in- 
capable of  judging  her,  and  was  she,  too,  mysteriously 
marked  for  failure?  Were  they  cut  off  from  the  rest 
of  mankind,  they  two,  and  left  standing  upon  some  mys- 
terious plague-spot?  He  told  himself  that  this  was  a 
delirium  of  weariness,  but  the  delirium  remained. 

The  strangeness  of  it  was  not  so  much  that  they  could 
get  nothing  good  to  do  as  that  they  could  get  nothing 
at  all.  It  had  not  always  been  so,  and  yet  they  did  not 
ask  for  so  much  now  as  they  used  to  do ;  their  fine  spirit 
about  not  taking  engagements  except  in  the  same  com- 
pany had  been  broken,  and  he  remembered  old  scruples, 
fastidious  standards  of  independence  or  loyalty,  which 
had  sometimes  stood  in  their  way  and  which  now  seemed 
to  him  like  silly,  sentimental  dreams.  He  remembered 
a  big  chance  which  he  had  once  given  up  because  the  star 
he  was  then  playing  with  would  not  release  him.  She 
had  had  no  contract  to  hold  him  by,  and  now  he  moved 
his  lips  in  a  sick  derision  of  that  honesty.  In  the  fu- 
ture, if  there  were  such  a  thing,  he  and  Grace  would 
take  what  they  could  get,  and  hang  on  to  it  like  other 
people.  If  there  came  to  be  something  lost  between 
them  in  a  mutual  faith  and  pride,  at  least  they  would 
know  where  their  next  meal  was  coming  from.  He  told 
himself,  looking  dryly  with  his  hot  eyes  upon  the  thin- 
ness of  his  wife's  face,  that  he  was  willing  to  pay  any 
price,  and  then  he  saw  that  he  was  already  paying  all 
he  had.  He  realized  with  a  sharper  sickness  than  before 
that  in  his  desperate  determinations  he  was  no  more 
powerful  than  a  child  determining  to  be  a  pirate,  and 


96  MERELY  PLAYERS 

that  whatever  he  might  do  he  was  no  more  able  to  buy 
a  little  ease,  a  breath  of  peace,  for  her  than  to  go  back 
and  leave  her  on  the  pleasant  path  where  he  had  found 
her.  He  started  up  with  a  restless  shudder,  and  going 
over  to  the  further  window  leaned  there  frowning  down 
into  the  dreary  litter  of  the  far-away  backyards.  He 
asked  himself  if  he  were  an  admitted  failure  in  this  busi- 
ness; come  now,  what  was  the  next  move?  Was  there 
any  other  business  that  he  knew,  any  trade  which  he 
understood,  any  chance  which,  if  it  were  offered  him,  he 
would  know  how  to  take?  Somewhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hood people  of  thrift  and  foresight  were  getting  in  coal. 
Would  anybody  trust  him  to  drive  a  coal-wagon?  His 
whole  soul  sickened  after  manual  success,  and  cried  out 
against  genteeler  accomplishments,  the  unmanly  arts  of 
pleasing — in  which,  he  must  suddenly  remember,  he  had 
wholly  failed  to  please.  But  along  middling  lines  then, 
in  shops  and  offices,  was  he  capable  of  nothing?  Well, 
fairly  capable  of  a  good  deal — perhaps,  with  a  little  time, 
a  little  opportunity  and  direction,  all  the  things  most 
lacking  in  this  crisis.  But  to  put  out  his  hand  securely 
and  seize  something — no,  nothing  in  the  world.  The 
world,  he  saw,  was  too  big  and  hard  for  him  and  Grace, 
for  life  or  death  they  did  not  count  in  it.  The  gorging, 
struggling  masses  of  success,  the  whole  blind,  opulent, 
and  crushing  earth  rolled  down  upon  them,  rolled  over 
them,  and  he  had  no  strength  at  all  to  shield  her. 

He  had  now  for  sometime  been  absently  gazing  at  the 
letter  which  had  dropped  from  Grace's  hand,  but  it  was 
only  at  this  moment  that  he  perceived  it  to  be  a  single 
sheet  of  paper  with  some  kind  of  business  heading. 
With  an  agonizing  pang  of  hope  he  picked  it  up.  ' '  The 


IN  AUGUST  97 

Elmside  Dairy — 21  quts." — it  was  the  milk  bill,  and  it 
had  not  been  paid  for  three  weeks!  He  recalled  the 
doctor's  words:  "At  least  a  quart  a  day,  Mrs.  Weston, 
if  you  are  to  gain  as  we  wish. ' '  Three  weeks !  A  dol- 
lar and  sixty-eight  cents !  He  had  still  four  dollars  from 
his  watch,  which  was  the  last  thing  they  had  had  to 
pawn.  A  dollar  and  sixty-eight  cents  out  of  four  dol- 
lars— he  would  have  to  stop  the  milk!  But  that  was 
impossible — she  needed  it !  Was  it  really  true  that  she, 
Grace,  could  not  have  what  she  needed,  when  it  cost 
only  fifty-six  cents  a  week,  and  that  rich  concern  was 
dealing  it  away,  day  after  day,  to  multitudes?  It  was 
quite  true.  They  had  cut  out  their  evening  car  rides  a 
long  while  ago;  last  week  they  had  decided  to  indulge 
in  no  more  breaths  of  air  on  the  ferry — he  caught  sight 
of  her  last  bottle  of  medicine  on  the  wash-stand;  it  had 
cost  sixty  cents  only  a  few  days  ago,  and  it  was  almost 
gone!  Weston  felt  himself  beginning  to  grapple  with 
a  mingled  fright  and  anger  at  the  absurdity  of  their 
affairs.  Why,  she  must  give  up  everything;  after  all 
that  he  had  contrived  for  her  she  must  slip  back  again 
and  get  worse,  and  this  time  nothing  could  be  done  to 
help  her,  though  she  should  actually  suffer!  It  seemed 
unbelievable.  He  had  pitied  such  things  often  enough 
when  he  had  heard  them  about  other  people  vaguely 
called  "the  poor,"  but  about  themselves  it  was  a  thing 
that  stopped  his  breath.  He  saw  clearly,  for  the  first 
time,  to  the  actual  end  of  his  four  dollars,  and  realized 
that  sum  to  be  all  that  remained  between  them  and  want. 
Not  another  penny  in  the  world — What  were  they  to  do 
then?  My  God!  What  was  to  become  of  them!  The 
blank  horizon  gaped  at  him. 
7 


98  MERELY  PLAYERS 

On  the  instant  he  was  shaken  by  one  of  those  waves 
of  panic  which  summer  in  the  city  sends  upon  human 
nerves  to  break  and  drown  them.  His  spirit  was  ground 
and  beaten  to  pieces  in  that  fierce  rush  of  horror;  his 
sense  of  common  life  deserted  him;  he  was  blind  with 
fear;  sick  and  shaking,  his  whole  being  one  shrieking 
pandemonium  of  hysteria,  he  sat  staring  at  his  wife 
and  knocking  with  his  knuckles  on  his  open  mouth. 
"  Oh !  oh !  oh ! "  kept  on  the  alternate  pound  and  flutter 
of  his  heart.  "What  is  to  become  of  us?  What  is  to 
become  of  us?  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  tell 
her?  When  the  time  comes  that  the  money  is  all  gone 
what  shall  I  say  to  her  ?  Where  shall  we  go  ?  What  will 
they  do  with  us?"  Struggle  as  he  would  there  was  no 
way  out,  nothing  that  he  could  see  between  them  and  a 
misery  beyond  death.  Death,  indeed,  how  easily  people 
talked  about  that,  as  if  it  were  quick  and  reliable  and 
met  with  overnight!  It  was  not  death  he  feared,  but 
the  length  of  its  approach  which  was — impracticable. 
There  must  be  something  to  be  done — something — there 
must  be — other  people  did  things — money  was  made — 
but  oh,  how,  how?  What  to  try?  Where  to  turn? 
What  next  ?  His  heart  was  gasping  open  and  shut  like 
the  gills  of  a  dying  fish,  but  the  dollar  clock  ticked  on, 
indifferent,  like  fate,  and  no  other  answer  sounded 
through  the  frenzied  whimper  of  his  brain.  He  began 
to  crave  some  signal  of  human  nearness,  he  felt  as  if 
he  must  go  mad  indeed  if  some  one  did  not  speak  to  him 
and  prove  him  still  capable,  at  least,  of  communication 
with  his  kind.  And  suddenly  he  wondered  at  Grace's 
sleeping  so  soundly,  so  long.  He  had  been  at  home  now 
for  sometime  and  she  had  not  moved;  it  seemed  to  him 


IN  AUGUST  99 

as  if  she  had  not  breathed.  All  the  jangling  nerves  in 
him  were  stricken  quiet  by  a  single  fear.  If  she — He 
put  out  his  hand  and  touched  her;  her  skin  was  moist 
and  warm,  she  sighed  and  stirred  a  little.  And  at  that 
he  lost  all  grip  upon  happiness  or  unhappiness,  sub- 
merged in  a  kind  of  terrible  relief.  He  remained  bent 
forward,  shuddering,  and  after  a  time,  when  he  began 
to  recover  consciousness,  to  rise  to  the  surface,  he  found 
himself  holding  desperately  to  some  idea,  some  plank  of 
safety. 

This  idea  turned  out  to  be  that  he  had  been  making 
a  fool  of  himself  for  nothing,  that  no  matter  what  hap- 
pened Grace  was  provided  for,  that  she  could  always  go 
back  to  her  people.  It  was  an  abhorrent  thought,  but 
he  clung  to  it,  still  quaking,  it  was  true,  but  reassuring, 
quieting  himself.  Why,  what  a  fuss  he  had  been  mak- 
ing !  What  was  all  this  deathly  fear  he  had  been  drown- 
ing in?  She  was  not  going  to  die,  she  was  not  going 
to  want,  what  had  he  been  thinking  of?  She  was  not 
going  to  sink,  here,  with  him,  no,  no ;  she  could  go  home 
to  decency,  security.  He  began  to  breathe  evenly,  he 
sat  up  and  wiped  his  face  and  head,  that  were  all  cold 
and  drenched  with  the  sweat  of  nightmare.  Why,  that 
was  it,  that  was  the  way!  He  would  write  to-night  to 
Grace's  father  and  ask  for  money  for  her  ticket  home, 
and  as  soon  as  she  was  gone  he  would  give  up  the  room. 
A  man  alone  could  always  manage  somehow  until — 
Well,  he  would  try;  there  might  be  something,  some- 
where, that  he  could  do.  He  got  slowly  to  his  feet  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down,  gravely,  and  with  judicial 
calm,  sobered  from  having  touched  the  depths.  God 
knew  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  her  that  she  must  go 


100  MERELY  PLAYERS 

home!  That  was  a  thing  she  had  always  kept  out  of 
her  mind.  Poor  Grace!  poor  girl!  They  would  give 
her  enough  to  eat  and  a  place  to  stay  in,  in  the  bustling, 
strident  little  house,  but  they  would  make  her  very  un- 
happy. He  knew  the  family  circle  well,  its  thrift,  its 
sound,  comfortless  comfort,  its  unresting,  cheery  con- 
tempt for  weakness,  for  failure.  When  they  were  not 
confiding  their  sentiments  about  him  to  Grace  she  would 
still  hear  them  confiding  in  the  neighborhood,  and  she 
would  have  to  go  to  them  for  car  fare,  for  postage 
stamps.  His  child,  too,  and  his  wife !  No  wonder  peo- 
ple were  contemptuous  of  him.  Contempt  for  himself 
had  long  been  in  him  like  a  poison,  and  yet  within  him, 
too,  something  rose  to  combat  that  contempt.  He  had 
done  his  best,  he  would  do  his  best  still.  She  would 
understand.  He  looked  long  at  her  pale  face  and  told 
himself  that  he  had  loved  her  as  faithfully  and  given 
her  as  true  a  joy,  as  if  he  had  been  able  to  serve  her 
better.  He  took  a  little  comfort,  but  he  was  too  tired 
and  too  sad  for  hope.  He  saw  her  whole  nature  shrink 
from  the  bitter  resignation  which  was  growing  in  his 
heart,  and  he  said  aloud,  "I  can't  help  you."  As  he 
spoke  his  glance  fell  again  upon  the  envelope  which 
lay  face  downward  on  the  floor,  and  this  time  he  saw 
that  it  was  not  an  envelope  only,  but  an  unopened  letter. 

He  read  the  signature  first,  and  then  in  a  kind  of 
apathy  the  whole  note,  from  which,  presently,  particular 
phrases  began  to  stab  through  him  in  flashes  of  great 
joy — "At  the  eleventh  hour  .  .  .  all  O.  K.  .  .  . 
Lemuel  perfectly  agreeable  ...  to  sign  contracts 
.  .  .  office,  ten  to-morrow  .  .  .  Chesney." 

The  twilight   deepened   and   deepened   in  the   quiet 


IN  AUGUST  101 

room.  Weston  sat  down  on  the  floor  beside  the  sofa 
and  nestled  a  hand  among  the  folds  of  his  wife's  dress. 
She  stirred  again,  opened  her  eyes,  and  smiled  drowsily 
down  at  him.  With  a  long,  light  breath  she  moved  her 
hand  in  a  little  gesture  of  welcome,  and  reassured  by 
his  presence,  she  let  her  lashes  droop  again.  He  con- 
tinued to  sit  there  in  the  soft  evening,  silently  waiting 
to  give  her  this  news  when  he  should  wake  her,  and 
rested  his  cheek  against  her  skirt. 


THE   PRINCESS   KOSALBA 


THE   PRINCESS   ROSALBA 

tint  TY  dear  Bob,"  said  Miss  Austin,  "you  should 
1V1  try  managing  a  circus,  not  a  Pinero  actress.  I 
don't  know  what  I  can  do  for  you  that  is  more  sensa- 
tional than  to  lose  my  jewels ! ' ' 

Her  young  business  manager  stopped  in  his  wrath- 
ful promenade  up  and  down  her  dressing-room,  and 
favored  her  with  a  tremendous  frown.  "Is  this  a  time 
to  joke?"  he  said.  He  turned  imperiously  to  the  grave 
personage  at  the  door.  ' '  Tell  it  again, ' '  he  said.  ' '  And 
be  careful.  Don't  miss  a  point." 

The  personage  cleared  his  throat.  "I  went  back  in 
the  carriage,  sir,  as  directed,  to  fetch  Miss  Austin's 
necklace.  When  I  reached  the  hotel  I  went  to  the 
desk  for  the  box  to  be  gotten  out  of  the  safe.  The  clerk 
was  there,  and  another  person,  and  there  were  some 
persons  whom  I  scarcely  observed,  leaning  upon  the 
desk.  I  presented  Miss  Austin's  order,  and  when  the 
clerk  handed  me  the  box,  I  unlocked  it  with  Miss  Aus- 
tin's key,  in  full  view  of  those  present.  The  box  was 
packed  with  pebbles,  empty  pill-boxes  and  such  trifles. 
Miss  Austin's  ornaments  had  disappeared.  And  I 
drove  here  to  report,  Mr.  Daley." 

"You  see!"  cried  the  business  manager,  waving  an 
accusing  hand  at  his  principal.  "Not  even  an  adver- 
tisement in  it!  Nothing!  A  bald,  impossible  state- 

105 


106  MERELY  PLAYERS 

merit.  Not  a  clue,  not  an  incident!  nobody  will  be- 
lieve it !  They  will  say  it  is  a  fake ! ' ' 

"My  dear  Robert,"  said  Miss  Austin,  "try  to  re- 
member that  it  is  not  my  fault.  I  would  have  lost  my 
jewels  more  romantically  for  you,  if  I  could."  She 
turned  slowly  toward  the  personage  and  regarded  him 
gravely  and  softly,  tapping  on  her  mouth  with  her  long 
fingers.  "When  you  unlocked  the  box,  Thomason,  the 
key  turned  as  usual?  You  do  not  think  the  lock  had 
been  tampered  with?" 

"No,  madam,  quite  as  usual." 

"And  no  one  had  asked  at  the  office  for  my  box,  since 
I  saw  you  put  it  there,  myself,  last  night?" 

"No  one,  madam." 

"I  packed  it  myself,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  man- 
ager. "Hannah  was  busy  with  a  ruffle  I  had  stepped 
on,  and  I  always  like  to  handle  jewels,  so  I  put  them 
away  myself.  I  drove  home  with  the  box  in  my  lap, 
and  I  gave  it  to  Thomason  at  the  hotel  door.  I  saw 
the  clerk  put  it  in  the  safe." 

"The  hotel  is  liable,"  said  Daley.  "It's  a  clear 
case. ' ' 

Miss  Austin  made  a  movement  of  distaste.  "It  is 
terrible  to  have  it  narrowed  to  the  clerks.  An  indefinite 
criminal  doesn't  matter,  but  when  it  comes  to  people 
one  has  seen — Did  they  examine  the  other  things  in 
the  safe?  Were  they  intact?" 

"As  far  as  could  be  seen  just  then,  madam.  There 
was  even  an  envelope  from  that  music-hall  person  with 
some  money  in  it,  not  a  large  sum,  quite  undisturbed, 
madam. ' ' 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  107 

"That  music-hall  person?" 

"She  was  there,  madam,  and  counted  it.  She  said 
she  was  sorry  your  jewels  were  gone,  as  she  had  wished 
to  see  them  on  you  to-night,  madam." 

"To-night?  oh,  yes.  If  you  mean  Miss  Montresor, 
Thomason,  kindly  call  her  so." 

"Yes,  madam.  And  she  does  look  above  her  station, 
certainly,  madam.  A  very  well-appearing  young 
woman — " 

"You  sent  her  a  box,  of  course,  Bob,"  Miss  Austin 
interrupted. 

He  nodded.  "Higgins,  her  representative,  wrote  for 
one.  She  has  had  some  kind  of  a  kick-up  with  the 
people  at  the  Orpheum,  and  they've  put  an  injunction 
on  her,  so  she's  not  dancing  at  all.  How  many  stones 
in  that  necklace  of  yours,  Mary?" 

"Thirty. — And  they  had  nothing  whatever  to  say 
at  the  office,  Thomason  ? ' ' 

"Nothing  to  signify,  madam." 

""Well,  they're  saying  something  by  this  time,  I  bet. 
I  guess  the  catechism's  easy  to  what  those  detectives 
are  springing  on  'em  by  this  time.  I  guess  your  law- 
yer will  have  something  to  say  to  them  about  break- 
fast time,  that'll  take  away  their  appetites.  And  now 
when  the  fellow  gets  here  from  the  police  force,  Mary, 
it'll  be  Hoffman  or  Harkinson,  one  of  their  best  men, 
and  I  want  you  to  smile  at  him,  and  treat  him  right, 
and  hearten  him  up  a  little,  as  though  he  was  one  of 
those  little  devils  of  newsboys,  or  waiters,  or  washer- 
women that  you  always  lay  yourself  out  for.  It's 
really  nothing  against  a  man  that  he's  got  influence, 


108  MERELY  PLAYERS 

you   know."     He   looked   quizzically   at   her  with  his 
shrewd  and  charming  smile. 

"Very  well,  Bob,"  she  said.  "And  certainly  it  has 
to  be  left  to  the  police.  And  I  am  afraid  it  will  have 
to  get  into  the  papers." 

"Into  the  papers!  Get  into  the  papers!  You  bet 
there  isn't  going  to  be  anything  else  in  the  papers! 
I'll  have  headlines  that'll  knock  the  public  right  be- 
tween the  eyes.  If  there  ain't  a  story  in  the  thing,  I'll 
make  one  that'll  send  up  the  price  of  padlocks. 
I'll  have  this  whole  town  seeing  diamonds  in  its  sleep. 
I'll  have  all  the  boarding-house  and  Harlem  flat  people 
that  don't  know  a  pigeon-blood  from  a  jew's-harp 
stuffed  and  boozy  on  descriptions  of  your  jewelry.  I'll 
have  every  sporting  man  on  Broadway  cracked  on  his 
own  notion  of  who's  the  thief.  By  George,  I  swear  if 
I  can't  get  'em  back  for  you,  Mary,  I'll  have  every 
woman  in  New  York  putting  up  her  good  two  dollars 
to  see  the  woman  that  lost  'em!  Say,  Thomason — " 
he  looked  up  from  his  hurried  scribbling  at  his  star's 
little  travelling-desk,  "carriage  outside  still?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Daley." 

"Well,  you  jump  into  it  and  go  after  that  policeman 
and  ride  him  up  here.  You  give  him  to  understand 
we  didn't  want  him  to  get  his  boots  muddied.  Oh,  and 
stop  at  the  florist's,  and  tell  Miss  Austin's  maid,  if 
she's  got  those  roses  grown  yet,  Miss  Austin  wants  'em 
for  the  first  act,  not  for  her  funeral. ' '  He  turned  back 
to  the  star  as  the  door  closed  upon  the  correctness  of 
Thomason.  "Your  list  ready  for  the  papers,  Mary?" 

She  handed  him  a  pencilled  slip.    "Will  this  do?" 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  109 

He  glanced  at  it.  "Well,  I'll  fix  it  up  for  you. 
What  a  pity  you  went  in  for  oddity,  arrangements  and 
workmanship  and  all  that,  instead  of  stones!" 

"It  couldn't  make  much  difference,  now,"  she  re- 
minded him. 

"Well,  it  would  sound  a  lot  better."  He  began  to 
read  aloud: 

"1  necklace,  diamonds  and  sapphires,  $10,000. 

1  necklace,  diamonds,  $5,000. 

1  brooch,  cluster,  rose  diamonds,  set  with  white  dia- 
monds, $1750. 

1  brooch,  cluster,  yellow  diamonds,  set  with  white 
diamonds,  $1600. 

1  star  sapphire  brooch,  set  with  diamonds,  $3,000. 

1  tortoise-shell  comb  set  with  topaz,  $325. 

1  hair  ornament,  pendant,  rubies  and  diamonds, 
$2,000. 

1  string  turquoise  matrix,  intersected  by  pearls,  $200. 

1  lace  pin,  opal  and  diamonds,  $125. 

1  lace  pin,  single  pearl,  $100. 

1  belt  buckle,  jade  and  brilliants,  $150. 

1  small  gold  cross — (it  was  ten  dollars,  Mary). 

1  necklace,  rubies,  set  in  little  bangles  of  rose  gold, 
$4,000. 

1  pendant,  topaz,  set  with  pearls  and  diamonds,  $500. 

"$35,600  and  odd  dollars,  by  Jove!" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Every  cent,  all  of  my  profits 
that  I  dared.  I  love  bright  stones.  One  of  my  fore- 
bears, Robert,  must  have  come  out  of  the  East.  I've 
been  an  extravagant  hussy!"  she  demurely  added. 

' '  Extravagant !    Not  a  bit.     I  shall  have  to  touch  'em 


110  MERELY  PLAYERS 

up  as  it  is.  You  couldn't  offer  the  public  less  than  a 
clean  fifty  thousand  dollars '  worth.  Think  what  they  're 
used  to  being  gulled  with. ' ' 

"It  will  sound  so  dull,"  she  smiled  at  him,  ''for 
me  to  have  bought  them  all  myself.  Couldn't  you 
imagine  a  few  young  lords  and  millionaires  to  have 
given  me  some  of  them?  It  would  make  more  sensa- 
tional reading." 

He  replied,  "I  guess  we  can  cut  that  all  right." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  leaning  over 
him,  watched  his  flying  pen.  "There  seem  to  be  some 
points,  Bob,"  she  said,  softly,  "on  which  your  adver- 
tising instincts  fail!"  She  went  on,  teasingly.  "Still, 
officially,  a  few  czars  and  sultans  and  so  on  would  be 
quite  respectable." 

"There's  one  thing  about  rubies  and  diamonds,"  he 
unheedingly  continued;  "you  can  work  'em  up  to  al- 
most anything.  Say  a  hundred  thousand,  all  told. 
You're  wearing  your  rings?" 

"Oh,  yes,  and  my  watch,  and  one  little  brooch.  Bob, 
listen.  Did  you  hear  what  Thomason  said  about  that 
girl,  that  Rosie  Montresor,  or  whatever  she  calls  herself  ? 
Well,  if  I  hadn't  been  meaner  than  the  meanest  cad 
about  her  being  in  front  to-night,  I'd  have  brought  my 
jewels  to  the  theatre  as  usual,  and  worn  what  I  chose. 
But  I  thought  I  wouldn't  wear  any.  I  knew  she  would 
be  covered  with  diamonds  from  her  head  to  her  heels; 
all  New  York  has  gone  out  of  its  mind  about  her,  you 
know,  just  as  London  did.  It's  worse  than  after  the 
opera,  getting  past  the  Orpheum  while  she's  there;  and 
Miss  Dallis  was  in  front  one  night  during  her  song 
when  the  men  stood  up  in  their  seats  and  took  the 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  111 

flowers  out  of  their  button-holes  and  threw  them  to 
her!  I  suppose  I'm  an  old  bad-hearted  cat,  I  suppose 
I'm  jealous;  but  I  couldn't  bear  to  go  on  weeping 
through  a  Sudermann  enchantress  with  what  little  pieces 
of  one  sort  that  I  own  stuck  about  me,  and  that  little 
song-and-dance  girl  in  the  box  outshining  us,  and 
priding  herself  on  it!  And  then  after  I  got  here  I 
thought  what  a  cheap-minded  fool  I  was,  and  sent  back 
for  my  necklace." 

Mr.  Daley  laughed.  "I  guess  we're  all  human, 
Mary,"  he  said.  "And  I  guess  the  stones  were  gone 
before  you  left  the  hotel.  Let's  be  thankful  you  sent 
back  for  'em  and  found  it  out  when  you  did.  What 
gets  me  is  the  lot  of  time  the  fellow  must  have  had, 
what  a  lot  of  time  the  safe  must  have  been  open  to 
him.  He  must  have  had  the  combination,  he  must 
have  been  able  to  count  on  controlling  it;  there's  no 
way  out  of  that.  You  see,  he  doesn't  take  box  and 
all,  he  doesn't  break  the  lock;  no  sir.  He  takes  out 
all  the  little  cases,  and  fools  round,  wadding  the  whole 
thing  up  again,  by  George!  It's  like  you  to  take  it 
quietly,  but — why,  Mary!" 

"It's  nothing,"  she  reassured  him.  She  took  and 
put  aside  the  glass  of  water  that  he  fetched  her,  and 
smiled  upon  him,  somewhat  unsteadily.  "  I  was  a  little 
dizzy.  It's  gone.  But  so  much  of  my  money,  my  hard, 
slow,  weary  money,  was  in  those  jewels,  and  I'm  getting 
an  old  women,  Bob ! ' ' 

"You!"  he  jeered   fondly  at  her.     "You!" 

His  hands  were  still  outstretched  and  she  took  hold  of 
his  wrists  and  looked  up,  with  pensive  mischief,  into  his 
face.  ' '  Think  of  it !  My  little  gold  cross  that  you  gave 


112  MERELY  PLAYERS 

to  me  before  you  ever  proposed  to  me,  gone  at  one  swoop 
with  the  pearl  pin  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  you  give  me, 
after  you  had  stopped  proposing  altogether!  What  a 
long  time  it  took  you  to  grow  up,  Bob ! ' ' 

' '  I  '11'  give  you  another  cross  and  another  pin,  if  you  '11 
let  me  propose  again ! ' ' 

"Well,  that's  very  pretty  of  you,"  said  she.  She  was 
a  little  displeased,  and  she  walked  slowly  across  the 
room,  pretended  to  adjust  some  furs  that  were  drooping 
from  a  nail,  came  back  again,  and  took  a  seat  in  front 
of  him.  Her  clothes  made  little  silky,  crepy  whispers 
as  she  moved;  when  she  sat  down  the  laces  of  her 
dressing-gown  creamed  out  in  a  languid,  trailing  foam 
over  the  cheap  little  kitchen  chair.  Mr.  Robert  Daley 
stood  looking  down  upon  her  with  the  mingled  tolerance 
and  awe  with  which,  when  she  is  decoratively  pre- 
sented, simple-hearted  masculinity  regards  the  intellec- 
tual lady. 

"I'm  glad,  after  all,  that  I  brought  this  up,  Bob," 
she  said  at  last.  ' '  I  thought  you  had  gotten  over  the  no- 
tion that  you  had  anything  to  get  over.  But  I  see  I 
must  try  to  find  it  in  my  eloquence  to  convince  you 
that  you  are  not  in  love  with  me  at  all,  that  you  never 
were  in  love  with  me.  No ;  now  be  quiet.  I  thought  you 
knew  it  long  ago.  You  are  a  full-fledged,  successful 
business  man  now,  and  it  is  time  you  were  graduated 
from  that  idea.  When  we  were  both  very  young  and 
very  poor,  you  fell  in  love  with  my  unhappiness,  with 
your  ability  to  cheer  me  up  and  be  good  to  me;  you 
were  perfectly  faithful  to  me  during  all  those  famished 
years,  not  because  of  anything  in  me,  Bob,  only  be- 
cause you  are  an  entirely  chivalrous  and  romantic  per- 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  113 

son ;  and  now,  you  see,  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  the 
notion  of  being  faithful." 

He  was  turning  her  little  cloisonne  inkstand  round 
and  round  upon  the  make-up  shelf,  and  she  took  it 
smartly  out  of  his  hand  and  put  it  beyond  his  reach,  as 
though  he  were  a  naughty  child. 

"You  have  simply  got  to  rid  yourself  of  that  idea," 
she  persisted.  "It  was  not  at  all  bad  for  you  for  a 
long  while,  but  now  you  are  coming  to  the  fulness  of 
your  power.  It's  a  real  power,  you're  making  a  big 
name  for  yourself,  and  I  simply  will  not  have  all  your 
energies  and  prospects  identified  with  me.  This  fancy 
of  yours  of  putting  all  your  money  into  my  business  and 
making  me — what  was  it? — 'the  greatest  actress  living, 
if  it  took  your  last  dollar  to  do  it,'  I  won't  have  you 
wasting  yourself  in  that  futility.  We  can't  work  to- 
.  gether;  your  methods  aren't  mine — " 

"Too  noisy,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Daley  with  great 
good  humor. 

"Much  too  noisy.  And  my  dramatic  reputation  is  an 
established  concern  now;  it  was  all  very  well  for  you 
to  manage  me  on  a  salary,  but  when  you  start  in  for 
yourself  it  must  be  in  your  own  way,  and  you  must  have 
a  new  star,  a  new  piece,  something  you  can  make  a  big 
push,  and  dazzle  people  with.  I  let  you  come  with  me 
this  year  because  I  thought  if  you  saw  me  day  out  and 
in,  reeking  with  opulence  and  snarling  at  my  maid,  it 
would  fade  out  the  last  shadow  of  your  allegiance,  but 
I  am  still  black  and  pale  and  thin  and  older  than  you 
— now,  come,  you  know  I  am! — so  I  suppose  you  still 
contrive  to  pity  me. ' ' 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  mouth  crooking  itself  at 


114  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  corner  in  the  little  upward  slant  of  tender  drollery 
with  which  she  was  accustomed  to  smile  at  his  bigness 
and  his  boyishness.  He  looked  very  fresh  and  strong 
and  comely  in  his  scrupulous  evening  dress,  and  buoy- 
antly young — younger,  she  stoically  remembered,  than 
even  he  had  quite  the  right  to  look.  He  observed  her, 
his  arms  folded,  with  a  gentle  superior  glare,  his  atti- 
tude not  unsuggestive  of  a  champion  pugilist  before  the 
camera,  and  spoke.  "Well,  Mary,  I  guess  you  don't 
want  to  marry  me,  all  right.  But  now,  you  won 't  enter- 
tain the  idea  of  our  being  business  partners  ? ' ' 

"Thank  you,  no;  I  will  not." 

"Well,  that's  clear." 

"I  want  it  to  be.     I  want  you  to  understand — " 

"Hold  on;  it's  up  to  you,  this  time,  to  be  still  a  min- 
ute. I'm  not  arguing  with  you.  I've  said  all  I  think 
about  the  business  deal  before,  and  I  see  it  don't  take 
hold  of  you ;  and  as  for  the  other,  I  don 't  want  to  bully- 
rag any  woman  into  liking  me.  But — pity  you!  You 
know  a  lot,  but  you  don 't  know  everything.  Pity  you ! 
Why,  there's  nobody  like  you!  You're  a  wonder! 
There  isn't  another  woman  on  God's  earth  has  got  the 
brain  you  have!  And  you're  the  bravest  woman  and 
the  best  and  the  best  actress.  Look  at  the  grip  you  get 
on  your  audience  from  the  word  go !  I  never  come  into 
the  house  and  look  across  that  crowd  of  people  that  I'm 
not  proud  of  you  from  the  ground  up.  You — snarl  at 
your  maid !  Why,  you  're  dead  easy !  Look  at  the  time 
it's  taking  her  to  buy  you  some  flowers!  Another 
woman  would  have  her  life !  Look  at  that  down-east  af- 
fair you  lug  around  the  country  with  you,  that  Thom- 
ason,  looks  like  a  walking  funeral — " 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  115 

"Thomason, "  said  Miss  Austin,  laughing,  "is  an  es- 
timable person.  He  has  seen  better  days.  I  believe  he 
was  educated  for  the  ministry,  or  for  school-teach- 
ing, or  something  far  more  respectable  than  acting, 
Bob.  And  he  isn't  a  Yankee,  he's  a  Scotch  Cana- 
dian." 

"I  don't  care  how  much  of  a  Canadian  he  is;  he  looks 
like  the  pictures  of  that  New  England  lantern-jaws — 
you  know;  the  one  that  wrote  the  essays — " 

"Oh— Emerson?" 

"Yes;  and  he  gets  on  my  nerves.  He's  too  sancti- 
monious. By  George,  if  you  hadn't  put  those  jewels 
away  yourself — " 

She  held  up  her  hand.     "Here's  Hannah." 

The  maid  knocked  and  entered.  "Gracious,  Han- 
nah," said  Miss  Austin,  "how  late  you  are,  child!" 
She  took  the  roses  from  the  girl's  hand  and  put  them 
into  water  herself.  "I  shall  be  rather  rushed,"  she 
said  to  the  departing  manager.  "If  you  don't  mind, 
Bob,  I  wish  you  'd  ask  Bartlett  yourself  to  be  sure  about 
those  blue  footlights." 

She  resigned  herself  into  the  hands  of  her  maid,  pen- 
sively contemplating  herself  in  the  long  mirror.  "Oh, 
for  some  pretty  girl!"  she  thought;  "some  good  pretty 
girl  to  open  Bob 's  eyes.  Dear  Bob !  I  can 't  have  him 
wasted.  I'm  so  fond  of  him.  I  can't  have  him  trailing 
about  after  a  bony  middle-aged  lady  who  reads  Maeter- 
linck. But  he  will—" 

"Is  it  true,  Miss  Austin,"  said  the  maid,  speaking 
breathlessly  up  from  her  kneeling  position  at  her  mis- 
tress's skirts;  "is  it  true  that  your  diamonds  and  rubies 
and  everything,  they're  all  lost?" 


116  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Oh!"  said  Miss  Austin,  with  a  start.  "Why,  yes; 
so  they  are!" 

By  a  quarter  of  eight  the  news  of  the  lost  jewels  had 
penetrated  to  the  remotest  dressing-room.  The  atmos- 
phere was  tremulous  and  ablaze ;  people  scarcely  minded 
the  old  dreariness  of  making-up,  in  the  lively  interest  of 
the  news.  Miss  Austin  was  on  good  terms  with  her  com- 
pany, and  all  its  members  were  sorry  for  her.  Old 
Mrs.  Mathers  went  downstairs  to  her  room  to  see  if  there 
wasn't  something  she  could  do  for  her  better  than  Han- 
nah could ;  Farnum,  her  heavy  man,  daringly  sent  forth 
and  procured  her  a  cocktail,  which  she  accepted  with 
gratitude;  the  property  boy,  who  was  very  young, 
rushed  away  when  he  ought  to  have  been  setting  the 
stage,  and  brought  her  back  a  call  a  lily,  stuck  in  a  bot- 
tle. And  she  never  seemed  so  important,  so  resplendant, 
so  romantic  to  the  general  imagination ;  the  value  of  her 
loss  and  its  intrinsic  beauty  clung  about  her  like  an 
exotic  charm,  and  lighted  her  personality  with  an  elec- 
tric brilliance.  People  made  way  for  her  as  for  a  de- 
throned queen;  her  slim  pale  arms  and  throat,  without 
a  jewel,  were  imaginatively  more  impressive  than  if  they 
had  outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind. 

As  usual,  the  house  was  crowded.  Miss  Austin's 
audiences  were  always  large,  and  what  is  commonly 
called  "brilliant";  she  was  somewhat  of  a  fad;  some- 
thing languorous  and  pensive  in  her  personality  made  it 
seem  cultured  to  admire  her,  people  who  really  cared 
about  acting  basked  in  the  ensemble  of  her  presenta- 
tions, her  stage  management;  women  flocked  in  a  panic 
of  anticipation  to  view  her  long,  lacy,  trailing  gowns. 


THE  PRINCESS  EOSALBA  117 

Taken  statistically,  she  was  thin,  colorless,  ugly;  long 
after  people  had  forgotten  her  acting  it  was  the  strange- 
ness of  her  beauty  which  drew  them  back  to  her.  She 
was  the  idol  of  the  stage-hands,  of  young  girls,  and  of 
boys  not  quite  grown  up;  older  men  disliked  her — 
were  aware  in  her  of  something  caustic,  something 
clear-sighted  and  judicial,  something  that  was  not 
caught  by  their  charm.  She  was  respected,  but  not 
popular. 

The  highly  bred  can  never  get  themselves  to  the 
beginning  of  a  play,  no  matter  at  what  time  the  play 
begins,  and  rustling  streams  of  fashion  continued  to 
flow  down  the  aisles  and  over  the  feet  and  past  the  eyes 
of  the  punctual  vulgarians  during  the  first  half  of  the 
first  act.  Miss  Austin  found  herself  unusually,  unduly 
exasperated  by  this.  Directly  after  her  first  entrance 
she  almost  tapped  her  foot  in  irritation,  and  she  soon 
began  to  be  aware  that  she  was  losing  her  grip  upon  her 
audience,  that  she  was  mechanical,  inattentive,  out  of 
the  picture.  It  took  a  certain  amount  of  effort  to  con- 
tinue speaking  her  lines.  She  detected  in  herself  a  tend- 
ency to  peer  about,  to  stop  and  listen.  The  loss  of 
the  jewels  had  gotten  into  her  nerves,  her  mind  kept  try- 
ing to  follow  them;  at  first,  she  had  felt  only  rather 
blank,  but  now  she  began  to  realize  that  they  were  gone, 
shining  under  other  eyes,  handled  by  other  fingers,  mar- 
shalled and  hidden  by  complacent  thieves  in  a  malicious 
triumph.  She  was  a  hard  worker,  a  strict  disciplina- 
rian; her  company,  accustomed  to  a  sharp  supervision, 
a  steady,  central  grasp,  was  a  little  chilled,  a  little 
thrown  out,  the  tension  was  relaxed,  good  team-play  be- 
came impossible. 


118  MERELY  PLAYERS 

The  first  box  on  the  stage-right  was  still  empty ;  Miss 
Austin  whispered  to  the  astonished  ingenue  that  Miss 
Montresor's  interest  had  evidently  departed  with  the 
jewels.  At  that  moment,  with  a  great  sweep  and  rustle 
and  flash,  Miss  Montresor  came  into  the  box. 

The  act  dragged  on.  Miss  Austin  went  through  the 
mechanism  of  her  work,  her  voice  sounding  in  her  own 
ears  far  away,  unconvincing,  flat.  She  no  longer  blamed 
the  audience  for  its  inattention,  but  the  curiosity  and 
comment  excited  by  Miss  Montresor's  entrance,  the 
opera-glasses  which  were  levelled  at  that  elaborate  head, 
the  rustle  and  clatter  and  flounce  of  the  stiff  satin  and 
jet  as  the  young  woman  seated  herself  in  the  extreme 
front  of  the  box  where  public  curiosity  might  glut  it- 
self upon  her,  made  Miss  Austin  a  little  sullen  and 
touched  her  mettle.  Her  instinctive  antipathy  to  the 
girl  became,  in  her  irresponsible  and  nervous  state,  a 
coldness  which  was  almost  conscious  opposition.  She 
tried  to  collect  her  forces,  and  she  avoided  looking  into 
the  box.  It  was  a  little  time  before  she  realized  that 
there  was  something  new  going  on,  an  excitement,  some- 
thing alert  and  whispering  in  the  distraction  of  her 
associates.  Little  exclamatory  noises  exploded  in  the 
left  first  entrance,  people  dodged  in  and  out  of  it 
against  her  express  orders.  She  was  beginning  the  last 
speech  of  the  first  act,  in  which  she  stood  almost  facing 
this  left  entrance,  and  she  was  annoyed,  she  wondered 
if  she  were  jealous,  at  finding  that  the  people  in  it  were 
staring  past  her  at  the  inevitable  Miss  Montresor.  Sud- 
denly she  saw  that  the  ingenue,  whose  hand  she  held, 
was  staring  in  that  direction,  too.  Something  in  the  in- 
genue's look  startled  her,  she  turned  slowly  toward  her 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  119 

bedizened  rival,  and  met  the  kindly  pity  and  disap- 
pointment of  a  pair  of  round  blue  eyes.  The  next  mo- 
ment her  mouth  dropped  open,  her  voice  caught  and 
died  away.  Miss  Montresor  was  in  full  evening  dress 
with  a  picture  hat;  she  leaned  forward,  conspicuous, 
serene,  a  little  stiff,  like  a  beautiful  Dutch  doll,  radiant 
in  her  popularity  and  her  youth,  rosy  and  shining  in 
the  dark  box  in  her  white  and  pink  and  golden  loveli- 
ness; and  there,  in  her  black  dress,  in  her  plumed  hat, 
on  her  beautiful  bare  wrists,  on  her  arms,  in  her  hair, 
and  deep  about  her  breast  and  the  length  of  her  slender 
throat  glittered  and  sparkled  the  entire  glory  of  Miss 
Austin's  precious  stones. 

The  actress  felt  her  blood  quicken  in  her  like  a  wave 
of  warmth.  A  strong  human  pleasure  of  excitement 
glowed  within  her;  she  turned  gently  away  from  the 
box  again,  and  finished  her  climax  in  a  swift  incisive 
fire  of  delivery.  The  audience  was  startled  into  ap- 
plause. The  girl  in  the  box  turned  and  said  something 
to  a  man  sitting  behind  her,  and  the  curtain  came  down. 

"My  maid  has  gone  for  her,"  Miss  Austin  said  to 
the  police  officer  in  plain  clothes,  "to  say  I  should  like 
to  speak  to  her.  But  will  she  come?" 

"I  guess  she'll  come  all  right,"  said  the  officer.  "It 
won't  be  her  game  to  make  a  scene  she'd  get  the  worst 
of  it  in — not  before  the  audience.  But  you  mustn't 
think,  ma'am,  that  the  rest  is  going  to  be  very  pretty. 
If  she  came  by  the  things  honestly,  she'll  make  a  strong 
fight  for  them.  She's  not  the  kind,  you  understand, 
that  most  any  sort  of  publicity  can  do  any  harm  to;  if 
there's  been,  any  fellow  hard  up  enough,  and  cracked  on 


120  MERELY  PLAYERS 

her  enough,  to  have  stolen  your  things  for  her,  it'll  be 
just  another  advertisement  for  her." 

"Surely  he  wouldn't  have  dared,  for  her  sake,  to  have 
given  them  to  her  without  some  kind  of  warning. ' ' 

"You  can't  tell  what  a  man '11  do,  when  he's  crazy. 
But  I  must  say  myself  it  don't  look  to  me  like  chance. 
"Well,  if  she  wore  those  stones  here  to-night  on  pur- 
pose, she's  got  some  pretty  deep  game  afoot.  And 
they'll  play  it  for  all  its  worth,  she  and  the  man  that 
runs  her." 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Mr.  Daley,  with  sudden  avidity; 
"her  manager,  Higgins.  Let's  have  him  in  here,  too!" 

"Oh,  he  won't  get  away.  I've  got  that  box  pretty 
close  watched,  I  can  tell  you.  But  we  want  the  woman 
alone  first.  What  I  want  to  put  you  on  about  is  any 
sympathy  racket.  She's  a  mighty  handsome  girl — " 

' '  She  looks  like  an  angel ! ' '  said  Mr.  Daley. 

"Well,  it's  just  those  angel  faces  can  do  the  dirty 
work.  She's  been  travelling  round  with  this  fellow  for 
years,  dancing  in  the  provinces,  singing  and  dancing  in 
all  sorts  of  queer  dives.  And  when  he  got  a  chance  to 
bring  her  out  in  London  she  was  what  you  might  call 
a  nine-days'  wonder  there,  the  same  as  here.  She  left 
there  all  of  a  sudden,  they  said  on  account  of  the  fancy 
prices  over  here,  but  before  she  left  there  was  some  sort 
of  a  muss  about  a  bracelet  some  young  swell  gave  her, 
or  didn't  give  her,  and  she  handed  it  back  to  him  again. 
She  seems  to  turn  people's  heads  easy  enough.  I  sup- 
pose she  doesn't  shake  this  Higgins  because  he  puts  her 
onto  all  her  rackets." 

"But  what  possible  motive  could  she  have  for  letting 
me  know  she  had  my  jewels  ? ' ' 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  121 

"Well,  I  can't  really  say  yet,  ma'am.  It  might  be  a 
case  of  blackmail,  same  as  Sir  George  Lorton  worked  on 
his  wife,  who  was  an  actress.  She  used  to  wear  the 
family  jewels  on  the  stage  as  a  sort  of  '  ad. '  Sir  George 
lit  out  for  Australia  with  them  and  pawned  them,  and 
then  swore  they  were  imitation,  and  actually  scared  some 
money  out  of  his  wife  by  threatening  to  expose  her  for 
cheating  the  public  with  false  pretences ! ' ' 

"But  Miss  Austin's  jewels  weren't  imitation,"  said 
Curtis. 

"No  more  were  the  others,"  said  the  officer.  "It  was 
just  a  trick  Sir  George  played  to  get  a  little  pocket- 
money." 

"The  connection  does  not  seem  so  very  likely,"  Miss 
Austin  demurred. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  said  the  officer,  "it  doesn't  seem 
very  likely,  any  way  you  take  it.  And  so  long  as  there's 
something  queer,  somewhere — ' 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  little  dressing- 
room  fell  strangely  silent,  and  its  silence  was  penetrated 
by  the  wistful,  suggestive  music  of  the  entr'acte  waltz. 
Miss  Austin  shuddered.  She  moved  to  the  door,  and 
opened  it  herself.  Miss  Montresor,  still  shimmering 
in  her  stolen  gorgeousness,  stood  smiling  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

"Miss  Montresor,"  said  Miss  Austin,  "will  you  come 
in.  You  need  not  wait  at  present,  Hannah,"  to  the 
maid.  "I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said  to  the  visitor,  as 
Mr.  Daley  pulled  forward  a  chair,  "to  have  to  put  you 
to  this  inconvenience." 

"It's  no  inconvenience  at  all.  I'm  sure  I  thought  it 
very  civil  of  you,"  said  the  girl.  Her  voice,  though  it 


122  MERELY  PLAYERS 

was  fresh  and  soft  with  a  little  living  note  of  gaiety 
and  sweetness,,  was  thinned  throughout  by  the  cockney 
twang  which,  carefully  beaten  away  from  the  actual 
aitches,  survived  in  the  lengthening  and  sharpening  of 
every  vowel,  and  the  sing-song  lilt  of  every  phrase. 
She  inclined  her  head  with  a  small,  stiff  graciousness  to 
Mr.  Daley,  and  rustled  into  the  chair. 

Miss  Austin,  sitting  opposite,  and  regarding  her  with 
care,  felt  a  disarming  kindness  for  the  ignorance  of  a 
girl  scarcely  out  of  her  teens,  and  for  some  other  quality 
which  she  could  not  name,  but  of  which  she  had  been 
aware  at  the  first  glance.  And  yet,  was  the  girl,  in  her 
flaunting  prosperity,  really  ignorant,  or  only  shame- 
less? Nothing  was  to  be  learned  from  her  excessive 
prettiness,  which  was  of  that  obvious  and  almost  imper- 
sonal kind  that  blunts  perception  and  defies  judgment 
like  a  mask.  She  was  tall,  and  of  a  young,  rounded 
slenderness;  on  her  little  Clytie  head  the  hair  was 
crimped  into  close,  solid  ripples,  like  a  barber's  block, 
and  glistened  thick  and  golden  and  smooth  down  to  the 
preposterous  great  bun  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  Her 
bright,  natural  complexion  looked  false  at  a  first  glance, 
it  was  so  evenly  pink  and  white;  her  round  eyes,  very 
mild  and  full,  regarded  the  world  with  a  baby  stare ; 
she  had  a  gentle,  rather  rigid  dignity,  like  that  of  a 
good  child.  Miss  Austin  could  make  nothing  of  that 
imperturbable  radiance ;  whether  it  was  strangely  stupid, 
or  strangely  daring,  she  could  not  guess,  but  yet  there 
was  something,  some  poignant  reminiscence  connected 
with  it,  and  suddenly  she  remembered,  and  almost  ex- 
claimed. When  she  was  a  little  girl,  a  very  morbid, 
lonely,  intense  little  girl,  there  had  been  raffled  at  a 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  123 

church  fair  near  her  home,  a  great  wax  doll.  The  sick 
and  dreamy  child  had  admired  it  beyond  the  pictures  of 
angels.  It  had  worn  a  long,  black  rustling  dress,  and  it 
had  had  a  round  pink  and  white  face,  flat,  rippled  golden 
hair.  In  manner  it  had  had  a  pleasing  stiffness,  a  polite 
smile.  Somehow  or  other,  she  had  gotten  a  ticket  for 
that  raffle;  she  had  lain  awake  night  after  night,  clasp- 
ing, in  imagination,  the  doll  in  her  arms;  all  the  long 
days  she  had  dreamed  of  nothing  else;  she  had  started 
a  wardrobe  for  it;  out  of  an  old  fairy  tale  which  years 
after  people  made  into  an  operetta,  she  had  named  it 
to  herself,  a  sweet  name,  Rosalba.  And  then,  someone 
else  drew  the  right  number.  She  never  saw  the  doll 
again;  she  never  cared  for  any  other  doll.  All  her 
childhood  Rosalba  gleamed  before  her,  an  imperishable 
regret.  And  now,  directly  opposite,  and  beautiful,  ex- 
actly as  a  child  conceives  of  beauty,  she  beheld  the  equiv- 
alent of  that  long-desired  presence.  She  remembered 
that  Miss  Montresor  was  called  Rosie,  and  looked  at  her 
with  that  slanting  smile  which  was  generally  reserved 
for  Robert  Daley.  At  that  moment  the  police  officer 
drew  a  chair  jauntily  in  front  of  the  door  and  sat  down. 
Miss  Austin  suddenly  felt  as  though  she  herself  were  in 
a  trap. 

She  was  seized  by  a  swift,  absurd  determination. 
The  dancer,  if  she  surrendered,  should  know  what  she 
was  doing. 

"Miss  Montresor,"  said  the  star,  "I  wanted  not  only 
to  speak  to  you  myself,  but  to  introduce  to  you  these 
gentlemen,  Mr.  Robert  Daley,  my  manager,"  Miss  Mon- 
tresor once  more  statelily  inclined  her  head,  "and  Mr. 
Murtha,  of  the  police." 


124  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Of  the  police!"  Miss  Montresor  somewhat  coyly 
echoed.  "My  word!"  She  turned  and  looked  at  Mr. 
Murtha  with  an  interested  amusement  in  which  she  al- 
most winked  at  him. 

The  officer  made  a  little  gesture  of  displeasure  and 
impatience.  He  felt  that  Miss  Austin's  information  had 
been  premature. 

"Oh!"  continued  the  young  lady,  "about  your  jew- 
els, to  be  sure !  Well,  Mr.  Officer,  I  hope  you  make 
short  work  of  finding  'em.  It's  an  awful  thing  for  a 
girl  to  see  everything  she's  got  go  into  somebody  else's 
pocket.  It  knocks  one  a  bit  silly,  I  should  think." 

"I  think  it  has  knocked  me  altogether  silly,"  re- 
sponded Miss  Austin.  ' '  I  scarcely  know  what  to  believe. 
I  wish  I  might  be  dreaming. ' ' 

"Fancy!  I  saw  you  were  a  bit  off  at  first.  'Poor 
soul!'  I  said  to  Higgins,  'she's  thinking  of  her  loss,  and 
no  wonder,'  I  said." 

"How  did  you  know  Miss  Austin  had  lost  her  jew- 
els?" asked  the  officer. 

"I  was  there  when  they  found  out." 

"Didn't  you  think  the  stones  were  pretty?" 

"Why,  how  should  I  know?  I  never  set  eyes  on  'em, 
did  I?" 

"You  wouldn't  know  them  if  you  should  see  them?" 

"Why,  no!"  said  the  girl,  with  an  impatient  laugh. 
' '  What 's  the  man  driving  at  ?  " 

Miss  Austin  leaned  forward.  "There  is  something  I 
should  like  to  ask  you."  She  waved  an  explanatory 
hand  toward  the  long  string  of  pearls  and  turquoises  the 
girl  was  at  that  moment  loosening  about  her  throat. 
' '  How  did  you  come  to  wear  these  here  to-night  ? ' ' 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  125 

"There!"  cried  Miss  Montresor,  "that's  what  I  said 
to  Higgins.  '  'Iggins — Higgins,'  I  said,  'what's  the  use 
o*  wearing  all  these  there  to-night?  It'll  only  remind 
her  of  her  pretty  things, '  I  said.  But  he  wouldn  't  have 
it.  He's  got  a  regular  taste  for  something  sparkly,  he 
has;  and  he  keeps  me  always  looking  like  I  was  on 
parade."  She  shook  a  string  of  diamonds  that  was 
twisted  round  her  wrist.  "But  they  are  pretty,"  she 
smiled. 

"You  seem  very  fond  of  jewels,"  said  Miss  Austin. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  bought  a  great  many  for 
a  young  girl. ' ' 

"My  word!  I  didn't  buy  'em!  I've  got  a  lot  else 
to  do  with  my  money,  I  have!  Luck  was  never  much 
my  way  before,  and  you  never  can  tell  when  it'll  stop, 
you  know.  I  daresay  I  shan't  be  drawing  a  hundred 
pounds  a  week  for  very  long,  I  shan't."  She  looked 
down,  musingly,  at  the  surprising  glitter  on  her  breast. 
"These  were  only  given  to  me  to-dye — to-day,"  she 
affably  corrected  herself. 

"Given  to  you!"  implored  Miss  Austin;  "0!  By 
whom?"  She  added,  with  growing  confidence,  "To- 
day! What,  all  at  once?" 

The  girl  colored.     "Wy  yes,"  she  said. 

"You  must  have  struck  it  rich!"  said  the  officer. 
"Who  gave  them  to  you?" 

"W'y!"  cried  Miss  Montresor,  "wot's  that  to  you? 
You  mustn't  try  any  of  your  police  manners  on  me,  my 
man." 

Miss  Austin  said  very  gently,  "I  am  afraid  you  will 
have  to  answer." 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed.     She  stood  up.     "See  'ere!" 


126  MERELY  PLAYERS 

she  cried,  "wot  is  this?  You're  all  pretty  queer,  I 
think!" 

Her  excitement  was  contagious;  the  officer  and  Miss 
Austin  also  rose;  Mr.  Daley  came  a  step  nearer  to  the 
girl,  and  fell  back  again.  Miss  Austin  observed  his  dis- 
comfort with  sympathy;  it  was  a  new  business  for  Bob 
to  be  in,  the  worrying  of  a  woman. 

Miss  Montresor  observed  the  position  of  the  officer. 
"Wot  are  you  doing  in  front  of  that  door?"  she  de- 
manded. She  gathered  up  the  lace  and  jet  of  her  skirts, 
as  though  to  go.  "Get  away!  I've  'ad  enough  of  it 
'ere,"  she  declared.  But  she  did  not  move. 

"I'm  not  going  to  get  away,"  said  the  officer,  "and 
neither  are  you ! ' ' 

She  questioned  Daley  and  Miss  Austin  with  quick 
looks.  ' '  Wot  does  he  mean  ? ' ' 

Miss  Austin  clenched  her  hands.  "Don't  be  afraid," 
she  began. 

"  I  'm  not  af rayd ! ' '  said  the  girl,  lifting  her  head. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  officer,  "look  here.  This 
lady's  lost  close  onto  forty  thousand  worth  of  precious 
stones,  and  you're  covered  with  'em  this  minute  like  a 
shop  window.  What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it?" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Miss  Montresor  turned  at 
last  from  the  officer  to  look  at  Miss  Austin  and  her  man- 
ager. "And  was  this  the  reason  that  you  asked  me  to 
come  and  speak  to  you?" 

"We  hoped  you  would  clear  yourself,"  said  Miss 
Austin. 

"You  didn't.  You  'oped  I  should  give  myself 
awye!" 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  127 

"Possibly,"  answered  Miss  Austin,  with  an  exas- 
perated flare  of  temper.  "I  wanted  my  jewels!" 

"And  do  you  think  if  I'd  stolen  'em,  I'd  be  wearing 
them  under  your  nose  ?  I  should  be  a  silly,  I  should ! ' ' 

"Well,"  broke  in  the  officer,  "there  was  never  any- 
thing done  so  queer  and  so  deliberate  as  that  for  noth- 
ing. There's  games  and  games  in  your  business.  I 
know  pretty  well  what  yours  is,  and  before  I'm  through 
with  you,  you  can  rest  easy  I'll  know  the  whole  of  it. 
You've  overreached  yourself  this  time,  you  and  Hig- 
gins." 

"Is  this,"  said  the  girl,  continuing  to  overlook  the 
officer,  ' '  is  this  wot  both  o '  you  think  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Austin,  pitifully,  "there 
are  the  stones !  "What  are  we  to  make  of  that  ? ' ' 

"Well,  wot  are  we?  They're  mine,  I  s'y.  You  s'y 
they're  yours.  It's  even,  isn't  it?  You  expect  me  to 
believe  you,  why  don 't  you  believe  me  ?  If  you  ask  me 
for  things  to  prove  it,  why  shouldn't  I  ask  you?  Wot's 
the  difference  between  us  ?  " 

She  turned  her  little  wax-doll  head  slowly  from  side 
to  side,  searching  their  faces.  Then  she  said  to  Miss 
Austin.  "I  see.  It's  the  kind  of  a  girl  I  am.  It's 
natural  to  think  I'd  tyke  'em.  Only,  w'y  didn't  you 
'ave  me  arrested  in  the  box,  business-like  ?  W  'y  did  you 
ask  me  to  come  into  your  own  room,  o'  my  own  self.  I 
was  that  pleased!  I  thought  you  were  that  kind  to  do 
it,  and  not  snubby  to  me  like  some  of  'em  'ave  been! 
But  I  don't  call  you  a  woman  at  all,  I  don't — not  now. 
W'y,  I  came  o'  people  never  'ad  a  chance  at  all  in  this 
world,  people  you  wouldn't  wipe  your  feet  on,  I  dare- 


128  MERELY  PLAYERS 

s'y,  but  there  isn't  one  of  'em  but  would  give  a  girl 
fair  pl'y,  or  wouldn't  be  ashymed  to  have  treated  'er 
like  you  'ave  treated  me ! "  She  had  scarcely  raised  her 
voice,  but  now  she  broke  into  a  loud  angry  laugh. 
"And  these,"  she  cried,  touching  the  jewels,  "won't 
you  look  a  pretty  fool  w  'en  they  come  to  look  at  them ! 
Not  to  know  your  own  things,  nor  so  very  much  about 
'em,  either.  These!  w'y  these  aren't  precious  stones  at 
all,  not  one  of  'em ;  these  are  only  imitytion ! ' ' 

She  looked  about,  eager  for  a  sensation,  but  no  one 
stirred.  Only  a  little  chill  settled  upon  two  of  her  audi- 
tors. The  officer  snorted  grimly.  "Imitation,  eh? 
What  did  I  tell  you?" 

Miss  Austin  spoke  in  her  soft,  frozen  voice  of  anger 
and  distaste.  "May  I  ask  you  to  let  me  examine  that 
belt  buckle?" 

' '  No ! ' '  cried  the  girl.  She  looked  defiantly  round 
at  the  passive,  expectant  figures.  Then,  with  a  shrug, 
she  unfastened  the  belt  and  handed  it  to  Miss  Austin. 
Miss  Austin  pressed  a  brilliant;  the  jade  slipped  back 
and  revealed  a  plain  gold  plate  heavily  engraved  with 
the  letters  M  and  A  in  monogram.  The  girl  looked  at 
this  in  silence,  and  grew  very  pale. 

"Imitation,  eh!"  chuckled  the  officer.  "That's 
news."  He  called  their  attention  with  a  pointing  fin- 
ger to  the  dancer's  concentrated  thoughtfulness.  They 
watched  it  grow  into  something  more  lively,  more  pain- 
ful ;  for  the  first  time  a  nervous  shadow  fell  across  her 
face,  she  began  to  betray  the  fluttered  passion  of  a  sensi- 
tive creature  which  feels  itself  entrapped,  which  sees 
walls  closing  closely  around  it.  Her  nostrils  distended 
a  little,  fear  crept  into  her  round,  pretty  eyes.  Still 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  129 

studying  her  face,  the  officer  said  to  Miss  Austin, 
"  Could  you  get  me  that  fellow  who  saw  her  in  the 
office?" 

Miss  Austin  went  to  the  door.  ' '  Please  tell  Mr.  Bart- 
lett  I'm  not  ready  yet,"  she  commanded,  ''and  send 
Thomason  here.  He  can  wait  outside  until  I  call  him." 

"Now,"  said  the  officer,  not  unkindly,  "now,  Miss 
Montresor,  these  things  were  given  to  you,  you  say?" 

"Ye — yes,  they  were." 

"Well,  then,  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  tell  us  who 
gave  'em  to  you.  Don't  you  hesitate  on  his  account. 
He's  treated  you  pretty  bad,  and  the  only  thing  for  you 
to  do  is  to  tell  us  who  he  is."  They  waited;  she  made 
no  sign  at  all.  "Because,  if  you  don't,  we'll  have  to 
keep  you  under  arrest  until  you  do.  Now,  you  don't 
want  that,  do  you?  You  don't  want  me  to  think  this 
is  all  a  fake,  and  you  were  in  the  business  from  the 
beginning?  And  be  sure,"  the  officer  added  sternly 
as  she  tried  to  speak  and  failed,  ' '  be  sure  you  tell  me  the 
right  fellow,  or  you'll  be  worse  off  than  ever,  in  the 
end." 

"I  thought  they  were  imitytion,"  she  persisted.  She 
moved  slowly  to  Miss  Austin's  dressing-place,  where  she 
began  to  take  off  the  jewels,  and  lay  them  piece  by 
piece  upon  the  shelf.  As  the  glimmering  pile  glistened 
and  grew,  her  eyes  filled  higher  and  higher  with  tears; 
she  put  down  the  last  ornament  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  ' '  There !  I  'aven  't  'urt  'em.  Let  me 
go." 

"Not  by  a  long  shot,"  cried  the  officer. 
"  Oh !  oh !  oh ! "  said  the  girl.    She  began  to  sway  a  lit- 
tle way  back  and  forth,  with  her  face  still  hidden. 
9 


130  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Miss  Austin  regarded  her  with  the  pity  which  she 
might  have  felt  for  some  lovely,  noxious  animal  in  pain. 
"I  have  my  jewels,"  she  said  to  the  officer.  "They  are 
all  I  want.  I  do  not  wish  to  press  the  charge. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  well, ' '  said  the  officer,  ' '  I  guess  I  got  to  hold  her 
all  right.  She—" 

"Ow!  w'y?"  cried  Miss  Montresor.  "They're  not 
yours.  They're  'ers,  and  she's  got  'em.  That's  all  she 
wants.  I'm  very  sorry  I  took  them."  Mr.  Daley 
started,  and  she  saw  him,  but  she  only  blenched  at  the 
slip  without  endeavoring  to  retrieve  it,  and  Miss  Aus- 
tin smiled  at  him  in  a  disconsolate  sympathy.  "I'm 
very  sorry.  They  were  so  pretty.  And  I  thought  they 
were  imitytion.  It  'asn't  'urt  'em  for  me  to  wear  'em 
a  few  hours.  Wy  can't  I  go?" 

"Ain't  you  the  innocent!"  said  the  officer.  "That 
may  go  down  with  the  lady  and  gentleman,  but  none  of 
it  in  mine.  You  never  stuck  yourself  all  over  with  those 
things  an'  wore  'em  here  as  conspicuous  as  a  headlight, 
because  they  were  so  pretty.  And  you  never  did  it 
on  your  own  lead,  either.  You  and  that  fellow  of  yours, 
that  Higgins,  have  got  something  up  your  sleeves,  and 
we've  got  a  pretty  good  idea  what  it  is."  He  winked 
covertly  at  Daley,  as  he  said,  "We  know  all  about  it 
except  one  or  two  little  details,  see?  And  if  you  tell  us 
those  before  he  does,  it'll  be  the  better  for  you." 

The  girl  dropped  into  a  chair  and  crouched  there, 
crying  wildly,  her  head  on  her  knees  and  enfolded  by 
her  arms;  her  huge  feathered  hat  knocked  and  swung 
about  rowdily  and  ridiculously  on  her  golden  little  head. 
The  sound  of  her  sobbing  was  dreadful  with  a  shamed, 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  131 

frightened  horror,  and  with  the  childish  little  "oh's" 
which  every  now  and  then  escaped  her. 

' '  My  God ! ' '  said  Mr.  Daley.  He  came  up  to  her,  and 
touched  the  jet  cap  of  her  sleeve.  "Please  don't!"  he 
said.  "Don't  cry.  It's  a  nasty  business.  But  maybe 
we  don't  understand  about  it  yet.  Mary!"  he  cried. 
"Why  don't  you  speak  to  her!" 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say?"  Miss  Austin  asked. 

"Oh,  Mary.  You'd  be  quick  enough  to  understand 
her  and  be  patient  with  her  if  she  was  a  part  you  were 
going  to  play,  if  she  was  in  a  book.  I  don't  believe 
we  've  got  any  right,  any  of  us,  to  make  her  cry  like  this. 
When  I  was  a  pretty  big  kid  I  used  to  think  it  great 
larks  to  cheat  the  street-cars  out  of  my  fare,  and  you, 
Mary,  once  you  thought  a  hotel  had  overcharged  you, 
and  you  took  away  three  towels;  I  remember  it  per- 
fectly. And  it's  all  the  same  thing,  if  we  had  the  sense 
to  see  it,  and  there's  no  reason  why  she  should  carry  on 
like  this  before  us,  poor  little  girl,  poor  little  girl ! ' ' 

The  officer  smiled  to  Miss  Austin,  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows. "She  don't  want  to  go  to  jail.  That's  what 
she 's  crying  for,  all  right. ' ' 

The  girl  sat  upright  and  controlled  herself  by  an  ef- 
fort which  seemed  to  sear  and  stiffen  the  young  gentle- 
ness of  her  look.  To  Mr.  Daley  she  paid  no  attention 
whatever,  and  he  continued  to  stand  awkwardly  behind 
her  chair.  She  said  to  the  officer,  "I  don't  'ave  to  tell 
anything  now,  do  I  ?  I  can  get  somebody,  can 't  I,  that  '11 
advise  me?" 

"You  mean  you  refuse  to  tell  us  anything?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  wot  trouble  I  might  get  myself 
into,  do  I?  I  should  think  you've  got  enough  out  of 


132  MERELY  PLAYERS 

me,  you  'ave.  You've  made  me  tell  you  I  took  'em, 
w'en  I  only  wanted  'em  for  a  minute — wot  more  do  you 
want?" 

"I  want  to  know  how  you  got  'em,  and  what  you 
wore  'em  here  to-night  for!" 

A  little  laugh  dimpled  over  the  girl's  face,  and  tilted 
up  the  piteous,  pale  bow  of  her  soft  mouth.  "Well!" 
she  said,  "you  are  greedy,  you  are! — You  can  talk  to 
my  solicitor,"  she  added. 

"You'll  have  to  come  with  me,  you  know,"  said  the 
officer. 

' '  I  should  'ave  to  do  that  any  'ow,  shouldn  't  I  ?  "Would 
someone  get  my  cloak  ?  It 's  in  the  box. ' ' 

Mr.  Daley  stepped  directly  in  front  of  her,  and 
looked  her  steadily  and  severely  in  the  eyes.  "Don't 
you  want  to  say  good-bye  to  Mr.  Higgins?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Ow!  no!"  she  cried.     "Wot  for?" 

"Officer,"  said  Mr.  Daley,  "there  isn't  a  man  going 
respects  law  and  order  more  than  I  do,  but  if  this  lady 
is  taken  out  of  this  room  before  that  Higgins  comes  into 
it,  there 's  going  to  be  a  fight. ' ' 

"I  won't  see  'im!"  cried  the  girl. 

"I  guess  you're  about  right,"  said  the  officer  to  Mr. 
Daley. 

"Ow,  very  well,"  said  the  girl,  quieting  herself. 
"You  can't  get  anything  out  o'  'im.  'E  thinks  some- 
body's made  me  a  'andsome  present.  Poor  'iggins;  'e 
will  get  a  shock,  'e  will ! ' ' 

"Oh,  he's  got  that  some  time  ago,"  said  the  officer. 
"He's  outside  with  my  men." 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  133 

Another  overture  was  ordered,  and  as  it  struck  up, 
Higgins  was  produced.  He  proved  to  be  a  tall,  pale, 
pulpy  man,  with  mutton-chop  whiskers,  and  he  looked 
badly  frightened.  He  was  fifteen  or  twenty  years  older 
than  Miss  Montresor,  and  there  was  something  cheap 
and  slightly  sickish  in  his  well-groomed  opulence. 

The  girl  dried  her  eyes  and  waved  her  hand  to  him, 
with  a  kind  little  motion  of  reassurance.  "Don't  look 
so  put  about,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "I'm  all  right." 

The  man's  features  puffed  into  a  spasm  of  temper. 
"And  what  about  me?"  he  asked.  "What's  the  mean- 
ing of  this  outrage?  It  must  be  something  you've  said. 

It's  that  pigheadedness  of  yours!    Why  didn't 

you  tell  the  truth?" 

The  girl's  mouth  opened  a  little,  her  chin  dropped, 
the  hand  which  she  had  been  raising  to  her  hair  folded 
itself  against  her  breast.  "I  have — told  it,"  she  slowly 
and  carefully  announced.  "You  can't  help  me.  Let 
it  be." 

He  still  looked  puzzled.  "Did  you  tell  this  lady  and 
gentleman  your  ornaments  were  only  imitation?" 

"Yes." 

"You  see !"  he  appealed  to  them,  with  extended  hands. 
"Just  what  I  have  been  telling  your  men,  constable. 
Not  Miss  Austin's  jewels.  Not  jewels  at  all.  Only 
imitation." 

Miss  Austin  looked  sadly  at  Daley,  and  met  a  candid 
defiance  in  his  eyes. 

"That's  the  gag  the  girl  tried  to  give  us,"  said  the 
officer;  "and  it  don't  work."  He  pointed  toward  the 
pile  of  trinkets.  "You  say  they're  imitation?" 


134  MERELY  PLAYERS 

''Certainly,"  persisted  Mr.  Higgins.  "I  bought  the 
entire  collection  this  morning  for  a  matter  of  three  hun- 
dred dollars." 

"  'Iggins!"  The  unguarded  warning  leaped  from 
the  girl's  lips. 

' '  Oh ! "  said  the  policeman.  ' '  You  bought  them  your- 
self, did  you?" 

11  Certainly." 

"Who  did  you  buy  'em  of?" 

"A  man  who  makes  a  specialite  of  fine  imitations — 
a  man  named  Ferguson." 

"What's  his  address?" 

"Thirteen  eleven,  Maiden  Lane." 

"There's  no  such  number,"  cried  Daley. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  officer.  "This  is  your  story, 
Mr.  Higgins.  You  bought  these  ornaments  this  morn- 
ing for  three  hundred  dollars  and  gave  them  as  a  present 
to  this  young  woman.  And  was  it  at  your  suggestion 
she  wore  them  here  to-night?" 

"Exactly." 

"Well,  now,  that's  queer.  The  young  woman  has 
just  testified  that  she  stole  those  jewels  herself,  and  lied 
to  you  about  them,  and  that  you  knew  no  more  of  where 
they  came  from  than  a  child."  He  leaned  back  and 
smiled  complacently.  "Hitch  somewhere!"  he  said 
gaily. 

Mr.  Higgins 's  angry  face  had  gone  clay-color.  He 
looked  at  the  girl  with  an  animosity  that  stammered  and 
faltered  on  his  lips.  "You  fool,  you!  A  nice  mess 
you've  got  me  into !  What  did  you  tell  a  yarn  like  that 
for,  eh?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  girl. 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  135 

"You've  made  me  look  a  liar,  you  have.  If  I'm 
jailed  up  here  in  this  beast  of  a  country,  it'll  be  your 
tongue  got  me  into  it.  You're  a  fool,  you  are!" 

"I'm  very,  very  sorry,"  she  replied. 

"You  ought  to  have  got  your  story  better  fixed  up 
between  you,"  jeered  the  officer. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  won't  take  my  word !"  cried 
Mr.  Higgins.  "Do  you  mean  you're  going  to  arrest 
me !  To  put  me  in  jail !  Me,  a  respectable  man !  W  'y, 
it'll  ruin  me!" 

"Yes,  you!"  said  the  officer,  a  little  tartly.  "And 
how  about  the  lady,  here?" 

"She!"  cried  Mr.  Higgins.  "She's  got  me  into  this 
with  that  tongue  of  hers !  After  all  I  done  for  her, — 
her!" 

Miss  Austin  arrested  Mr.  Daley's  movement,  and  said 
to  the  officer,  "That  fellow  mustn't  speak  so  to  that 
child." 

She  looked  commiseratingly  at  the  dancer,  and  sighed 
forgivingly. 

"Mary,"  said  Mr.  Daley,  "you're  the  best  woman  in 
the  world,  and  always  were,  but  you're  all  mixed  up 
on  this.  She  don't  want  that  kind  of  pity.  She  don't 
need  it  from  anybody.  Why,  Mary,  and  you,  too,  offi- 
cer, can't  you  see  how  it  all  is?  That  fellow  there 
didn't  steal  the  jewels,  and  whoever  did  has  got  into  a 
funk  and  sold  'em  to  him  for  imitation.  But  we've 
frightened  Miss  Montresor,  not  on  her  own  account,  you 
bet,  but  on  his;  when  she  found  the  jewels  were  real, 
after  all,  and  were  yours,  she  thought  he'd  stolen  them, 
and  stolen  them  for  her,  and  she — yes,  she  lied  to  shield 
him.  Don't  you  remember  what  she  said  at  first? 


136  MERELY  PLAYERS 

'They  were  only  given  to  me  to-day.'  Don't  you  see? 
She's  been  trying  to  shield  him,  that's  all!" 

"He's  just  as  likely  to  put  on  all  this  bluster  to  try 
and  shield  her,"  said  the  officer.  "It's  six  to  the  half- 
dozen,  that  way.  And  I  should  like  to  see  the  profes- 
sional thief  that  would  sell  forty  thousand  worth  of 
graft  for  three  hundred,  no  matter  what  tree  he  was  up. 
Nay,  nay ;  it  won 't  work ! ' ' 

Mr.  Higgins's  complexion  had  been  growing  pastier 
and  pastier,  and  now  he  gave  forth  an  embarrassed 
laugh. 

"Well,  constable,"  he  said,  "it's  not  my  fault  if 
you're  too  clever  for  me.  I  couldn't  deceive  you,  could 
I?  I  am  not  the  first  man  that's  lost  his  head  about  her, 
as  is  well  known.  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  her,  but  I  'm 
not  bound  to  go  to  jail  for  her,  am  I  ? " 

"You  mean  her  story  was  correct?"  said  the  officer. 

Mr.  Higgins  shifted,  and  decently  hesitated.  "You 
said  so  yourself,"  he  suggested. 

The  officer  rose  with  a  disgusted  smile.  "I  guess 
we'll  all  march  along,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Daley  went  up  to  the  girl  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"Miss  Montresor,  I  don't  ask  you  to  take  back  any- 
thing you  've  said,  because  I  know  you  won 't.  But,  bye- 
and-bye,  we'll  prove  what's  true.  May  I  get  your 
cloak?" 

She  gave  him  a  long  smile  out  of  her  wet,  grave  eyes. 
"Any  'ow,"  she  said,  "you're  a  man,  you  are."  She 
laid  her  hand  in  his. 

Somehow  he  did  not  start  for  the  cloak.  Nobody  hur- 
ried him.  There  was  a  vague  hope  in  the  air  that  now 
she  was  going  to  do  something,  that  now  she  was  going 


THE  PEINCESS  ROSALBA  137 

to  clear  herself.  Almost  in  the  instant  she  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  Daley,  and  it  was  the  look  she  bent  upon 
Mr.  Higgins  which  arrested  attention,  a  look  of  gather- 
ing passion,  like  a  great  tide,  growing  and  rising  in  her 
face.  She  stepped  up  close  to  him,  and  touched  him 
with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "I'm  done  with  you, 
'iggins, "  she  said.  "Do  you  'ear  wot  I'm  telling  you? 
I  'm  done  with  you,  I  thank  Gawd  ! ' ' 

Mr.  Higgins  made  an  indeterminate  sound. 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  she  continued  slowly,  and 
speaking  at  first  with  the  greatest  care ;  "  I  want  you  to 
know  how  I've  always  felt  about  you.  Ever  since  I 
could  walk,  almost,  I  danced  for  money;  when  I  fol- 
lowed the  hand-organs  in  the  street,  and  danced,  you 
know,  with  the  other  little  kiddies,  it  was  me  people 
would  throw  the  pennies  to.  My  father  never  could 
abide  it,  I  '11  say  that  for  him ;  many  a  whack  he 's  given 
me  for  it,  he  has.  I  used  to  run  off  and  dance  the 
'ighland  fling  in  public  'ouses  when  I  wasn't  as  'igh  as 
the  back  of  a  chair,  and  come  home  with  a  great  lot  of 
coppers,  and  I'll  say  this,  there  never  was  a  soul  laid  a 
finger  on  me  at  a  public  'ouse,  nor  spoke  a  word  to  me 
that  wasn't  proper.  And  then  father  had  his  accident, 
and  used  to  sit  at  home  in  a  corner,  a  bit  out  of  his  mind, 
as  you  might  say,  as  useless  as  a  dummy,  poor  soul,  and 
'aving  to  'ave  his  mouth  wiped  every  little  while.  I 
dream  about  'im  like  that  sometimes,  I  do.  We  'ad  that 
kind  of  a  time  for  years  that  I  can't  put  a  name  to.  I 
got  singin'  and  dancin'  to  do  at  music  'alls — queer  lit- 
tle 'oles  nobody 'd  know  the  name  of,  and  as  I  got  a  bit 
older,  I'd  get  away  for  a  week  or  two,  with  some  little 
tupenny  thing  that  was  trying  to  tour  the  provinces.  I 


138  MERELY  PLAYERS 

never  had  any  schooling,  nor  any  rest,  nor  any  chance. 
Meat  was  a  great  treat  for  me,  it  was,  and  I  used  to  do 
my  own  clothes  in  a  wash- 'and  basin.  You  see,  'iggins, 
I'm  not  forgetting  wot  you  took  me  out  of.  When  I 
was  fifteen  I  was  making  thirty  shillings  a  week,  and 
I  took  out  a  life-insurance  for  my  mother,  I  remember. 
Ow,  I  had  a  good  enough  time;  I  was  always  a  jolly 
little  monkey,  I  was.  And  I  wasn't  only  dancing  then, 
I  was  acting,  which  I  was  good  at — you  know  very  well 
I  was,  Freddy  'iggins!  I  was  playing  Rosalba,"  Miss 
Austin  started  and  almost  flushed,  "in  the  Princess 
Rosalba,  that  I  took  my  first  name  out  of,  for  my  own 
name's  Susan,"  Miss  Montresor  continued,  "singing 
and  dancing  and  acting  the  leading  part  for  thirty 
shillings  a  week,  and  the  manager  not  always  'andy 
with  that,  either !  But  you  saw  me  in  it  and  people  told 
me  afterwards  wot  you  said — 'Lord!  there's  a  fortune 
in  the  girl!'  And  just  about  then  the  manager's  wife 
lost  the  job  she  'ad  in  another  company,  and  he  put 
'er  into  my  part  to  save  a  salary,  and  I  was  chucked 
out.  Wen  'e  told  me,  I  thought  I  should  'a'  died! 
I  can  shut  my  eyes  and  feel  like  that  now,  like  I  was 
seein'  blood.  And  then  you  took  'old  of  me.  You 
said  you  were  sorry  for  me,  you  said  I  had  talent  and 
you  couldn't  see  it  go  to  waste,  and  you  were  always 
pleasant-spoken  and  gentle,  and  never  ashymed  to  take 
me  out  a  bit,  though  my  talk  was  so  ignorant  those  days. 
You  made  a  contract  with  mother  and  me  for  five  years,  a 
rise  of  salary  every  year ;  I  wouldn't  'a'  called  the  Queen 
my  cousin!  And  you  got  me  lessons  in  dancing  and 
in  singing;  you've  made  an  artist  of  me,  'iggins,  I'll 
say  that  for  you.  You  managed  me  for  all  you  were 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  139 

worth.  In  two  years  we  'ad  our  'ands  full,  the  prov- 
inces were  wild  for  us,  we  could  'ardly  keep  up  with 
our  engygements.  You  sent  my  father  to  a  'ospital 
and  he  died  comfortable  there,  and  you  gave  him  a 
'andsome  funeral,  you  did,  and  you  sent  Cissie  and 
Bess  to  school,  and  you  set  up  Tom  in  that  bit  of  a 
shop,  so  mother  could  live  with  'im,  and  look  after 
'im,  like  I  never  was  looked  after.  I  was  cryzy  gryte- 
f ul !  I  thought  you  were  the  best  man  in  the  world, 
I  thought  you  were — and  the  Lord  knows  I  don't  speak 
it  lightly — I  thought  you  were  like  Gawd !  I  studied 
my  business  like  a  mad  thing;  I  tried  to  speak  like  a 
lydy,  and  I  do  w'en  I'm  careful,  and  I  never  drop  an 
aitch  on  the  styge,  as  you  well  know.  I  would  'a' 
worked  till  I  died,  for  you,  and  glad  to  do  it.  And 
all  this  time  I  never  asked  w'ere  the  money  went  to. 
I  'ad  so  much  more  than  ever  I'd  'ad  in  my  life,  I 
didn't  give  a  thought  to  the  rest,  and  didn't  know  I 
was  p'ying  you  back  with  interest.  We  kept  to  our 
original  contract,  you  an'  me,  an'  you  payed  me  the 
salary  you'd  agreed  to,  and  I  took  it,  an'  no  more. 
Eight  pounds  a  week  I  get  this  year,  an'  me  drawing 
a  hundred  from  the  Orpheum  and  more  offered  me 
every  day!  You've  paid  some  carriage  bills  and  things 
on  the  outside,  very  liberal,  you  'ave!  But — it's  not 
the  money!" 

There  was  a  slim  gold  chain  about  her  neck,  she 
broke  it  with  a  snap  and  handed  it  to  him;  then  they 
saw  a  cheap  little  ring  hanging  from  it. 

"When  I  was  about  sixteen,"  she  went  on,  "you  said 
you  wanted  to  marry  me.  It  never  cyme  to  me  to 
say  no.  I  didn't  like  it  much,  but  I  didn't  care  much, 


140  MERELY  PLAYERS 

either,  not  then,  and  I  was  used  to  minding  wot  you 
said.  But  I  never  could  abide  you  to  come  near  me, 
you  remember,  and  I  put  it  off,  time  and  again,  one  way 
an'  another,  and  w'en  I  got  older,  I  said  I'd  marry  you 
w'en  the  five  years  were  up.  It  was  the  farthest  I 
could  think  of.  And  it  wasn't  till  after  we  got  to 
London,  and  men  began  tyking  me  out  a  bit,  and 
s'ying  things  to  me,  that  I  began  to  understand  wot 
people  were  s'ying  about — about  you  and  me." 

Mr.  Daley  had  been  turning  a  tumbler  round  and 
round  upon  the  wash-stand;  it  now  fell  into  the  basin 
with  quite  a  crash  and  broke  to  pieces.  Mr.  Daley 
scooped  out  the  pieces,  cut  himself,  and  continued  to 
stand  sucking  his  finger,  a  picture  of  foolishness,  as 
the  girl  went  on. 

"I  ought  to  'ave  expected  it,  I  s'pose,  for  it  looked 
that  w'y.  There's  many  a  poor  girl  in  my  plyce,  bet- 
ter than  me,  most  likely,  but  not  so  stubborn,  it  would 
'ave  been  true  of;  it,  and  the  other  things  that  got 
said,  that  would  'a'  made  my  father  turn  in  his  gryve. 
I  like  a  lark,  I  do,  w'en  it's  right;  I  was  as  ignorant 
a  fool  as  ever  stepped,  I  know  that,  but  in  my  business 
a  man  can  tyke  a  girl  out  after  'er  work's  over,  and 
get  'er  a  glass  o'  beer,  and  no  'arm  done.  I  didn't 
know  it  was  different  with  other  people.  And  it  was 
you  introduced  all  those  young  swells  to  me,  and  I 
was  jolly  glad  to  go  about  with  'em  a  bit,  and  w'en 
I  began  to  come  to  you  with  things,  you  said,  wot  did 
I  know  about  swell  w'ys?  You  said  the  social  racket 
was  the  one  to  work  so  as  to  get  a'ead  in  business. 
'Don't  I  know  'ow  to  tyke  care  o'  you?'  you  said. 
'Ain't  I  goin'  to  marry  you?'  And  I  knew  it  was  my 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  141 

fault  we  weren't  married  already,  and  every  time  you 
spoke  o'  marriage,  it  was  like  you'd  put  a  wet  cloth 
over  my  'ead.  And  then  there  cyme  that  business  with 
Lord  Lackam,  an'  you  know  w'y  I  gyve  'im  back  'is 
brycelet,  'iggins — you  know!"  The  color  flamed  over 
her  face,  her  voice  died  in  her  throat  and  rose  again 
in  a  swelling  rush  of  pain. 

"Look  at  me!"  she  said.  Her  stare  into  the  mirror 
ran  over  her  great  feathered  hat,  her  bare  shoulders, 
her  costly,  glittering  dress.  "You've  'ad  me  round  in 
carriages,  in  boxes,  in  restaurants,  to  myke  a  show  of 
me,  you've  'ired  jewelry  for  me  to  wear,  you've  made 
me  laugh  and  carry  on  in  my  songs  like  I  didn't  like, 
and  yet  I  trusted  you,  I  did,  and  I  thought  it  was  all 
a  part  of  the  business,  like  kissin'  people  in  a  love- 
scene.  All  the  time  you  kept  on  makin'  love  to  me, 
and  I  believed  you,  and  I  thought  of  all  you'd  done 
for  me,  and  'ow  Bessie  and  Cis  were  at  school  yet,  and 
'ow  everything  you  myde  me  do  was  for  me,  to  myke 
me  fymous;  and  times  I  could  'ardly  'elp  seein',  and 
yet  I  didn't  see.  Ow,  I've  been  a  wretched,  wretched 
girl,  these  months!  I  was  'appier  w'en  I  was  pl'yin' 
the  Princess  Rosalba  in  a  old  green  rag  with  silver 
fringes  on  it,  and  a  pink  wreath  in  my  'air,  than 
ever  I've  been  in  all  these  splendid  clothes!  But  I 
thought  it  would  be  all  right  w'en  we  were  married  at 
the  end  o'  this  year;  you  were  goin'  to  let  me  act  some 
parts  then,  like  I  did  Rosalba — w'en  you  were  dead 
sure  o'  me,  you  see! — and  I  swore  I'd  marry  you,  if 
I  died  for  it — and  I'd  rather  'a'  died,  for  I  couldn't 
but  feel  you  were  unmanly  and  foolish  and  mean — 
because  you  'ad  my  word  and  you  kept  on  syin'  you 


142  MERELY  PLAYERS 

loved  me,  you  loved  me,  but —  '  she  crossed  her  arms 
on  her  breast  with  a  soft  triumphant  laugh — "you 
don't;  you've  shown  me  that,  to-night.  That's  all  that 
matters.  Money  was  wot  you  wanted,  and  money 
you've  'ad.  No  matter  'ow  all  the  rest  o'  this  turns 
out,  I'm  free.  I  don't  care  if  I  go  to  jyle,  and  st'y 
there:  you  don't  love  me,  you  don't  love,  and  I'm  free 
of  you,  for  always!"  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  again,  and  stood  there,  trembling. 

It  was  the  police  officer  who  spoke  into  the  crowded 
silence.  "Well,  I  hope  you  were  fooling  us,  and  we 
get  hold  of  Ferguson,  Miss!" 

Miss  Austin  slowly  turned  her  head,  her  mouth  opened 
in  excitement.  "Ferguson!  Fergu — I  wonder!"  She 
sprang  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open.  "Thomason!" 
she  called.  Her  voice  rang  out  loudly,  searchingly, 
about  the  stage.  "Thomason!" 

Mr.  Daley's  face  lightened.  "By  George,  Mary,"  he 
cried,  ' '  you  've  got  the  greatest  brain !  I  thought  there 
was  something  queer  about  that  fish,"  he  added  to  the 
officers. 

"Thomason  isn't  here  ma'am,"  answered  the  stage- 
hand. "He  left  this  note,  please." 

' '  Miss  Austin, ' '  said  the  stage  manager,  ' '  they  've  sent 
around  twice  from  the  front  of  the  house.  I  can 't  hold 
this  audience  much  longer.  They  won't  stand  it." 

"Oh,  tell  them  I've  fainted,  or  something,"  said  she, 
impatiently. 

She  shut  the  door  again,  and  tore  open  the  envelope. 
Beside  the  letter  there  was  an  enclosure  which  she 
looked  at  with  a  puzzled  laugh.  She  read  the  letter 
aloud : 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  143 

"Miss  AUSTIN:  Madam — You  are  of  course  aware 
that  before  I  sank  to  the  menial  position  which  I  have 
occupied  with  you,  I  took,  with  even  my  humble  means, 
an  active  part  in  many  charitable  concerns.  The  re- 
demption of  the  unfortunate  has  been,  I  may  say,  my 
vocation.  During  the  years  when  I  had  every  reason 
to  suppose  that  I  should  always  be  in  possession  of  a 
sufficient  competence,  I  pledged  myself  to  a  certain 
meritorious  society  to  pay  three  hundred  dollars  a  year 
for  five  years  toward  a  training  school  and  House  of 
Help  which  it  was  desirous  of  assisting.  In  the 
popularity  resultant  upon  this  offer,  I  was  elected  presi- 
dent of  the  society  for  the  term  of  ten  years.  The 
society  was  faithful  to  me  in  my  worldly  misfortunes 
and  I  did  not  withdraw  from  my  high  office.  This 
week  was  the  time  when  my  last  yearly  payment  be- 
came due.  You  will  be  the  first  to  understand,  madam, 
that  no  such  payment  was  possible  to  me.  It  was  at 
the  time  of  this  extreme  necessity  that  by  one  of  those 
extravagant  expressions,  due,  probably  to  the  general 
lax  effusion  of  your  profession,  you  led  me  into  a 
serious  error.  One  evening  when  I  had  brought  you 
your  jewel-box,  you  folded  it  in  your  arms  as  though 
it  were  an  infant,  and  when  Mr.  Daley  remonstrated 
with  you,  you  said,  as  I  well  remember,  "0,  yes,  yes, 
I  know.  False  and  fair,  all  paste,  all  gauds,  all  glitter- 
ing dust!"  and  you  laughed  in  that  disdainful  manner 
so  many  observe  in  you.  What  was  I  to  infer?  I  sup- 
posed .that  the  public  was  being  deluded  at  a  nominal 
cost,  and  that  the  young  people,  of  whom,  unfortunately, 
a  great  many  witness  your  performances,  were  being 
falsely  attracted  toward  the  stage,  toward  a  life  of 


144  MERELY  PLAYERS 

prodigality  and  vain  show.  While  I  was  in  this  con- 
dition of  mind  it  occurred  to  me  that  these  meretricious 
counterfeits  of  which  the  custody  was  always  forced 
upon  me,  were  worth  more  than  the  small  amount  neces- 
sary to  avert  ignominy  from  a  faithful  and  industrious 
career.  I  am  aware  that  minds  habituated  to  merely 
mundane  considerations  will  regard  my  next  action  with 
deeply  rooted  prejudice.  I  procured  a  lock-box  suffi- 
ciently similar  to  your  own,  packed  it  to  a  correspond- 
ing weight,  carried  it  last  night  in  the  hand  of  the  arm 
over  which  I  carried  my  overcoat,  and  while  I  was 
walking  behind  you  into  the  lobby  of  the  hotel,  I  ex- 
changed the  boxes,  leaving  my  own  in  the  hotel  safe. 
This  morning  I  sought  out  Mr.  Higgins  as  a  probable 
purchaser  and  sold  them  to  him,  as  the  imitations  I  sup- 
posed them  to  be,  for  three  hundred  dollars.  I  thought 
them  worth  probably  more,  but  I  scorned  to  gain 
a  penny  for  my  personal  aggrandizement.  My  idea  was 
to  remain  in  your  employ  until  I  had  saved  another 
three  hundred,  or,  if  possible,  the  exact  value  of  the 
ornaments,  which  I  should  then  have  paid  to  you  in 
their  place.  It  was  merely  a  question  of  time.  I  have 
made  some  small  investments  which  will  eventually  as- 
sist me  to  independence.  But  this  evening,  when  I  ap- 
prehended that  Mr.  Higgins  and  Miss  Montresor  had 
forced  an  unexpected  issue,  and  were  certain  to  be  ar- 
rested, when  I  learned  that  the  jewels  were  real,  and 
that  I  could  never  repay  you  for  them,  and  when  I 
looked  at  her  from  the  entrance  and  saw  how  admirably 
they  became  her,  and  imagined  her  beautiful  distress, 
I  decided  upon  my  present  course.  I  have  left  town 
on  the  half  past  eight  train.  With  the  foregoing  com- 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  145 

plete  information,  I  return  the  three  hundred,  which 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  hand  to  Mr.  Hig- 
gins,  as  I  could  not,  in  honor,  allow  him  to  suffer 
financially.  If  you  should  desire  to  send  me  the  week's 
salary  almost  due  me,  it  will  reach  me  care  of  the  so- 
ciety, as  below.  As  I  have  observed  in  you  many  hu- 
mane, though  unconsidered  qualities,  I  trust  the  re- 
covery of  your  jewels  will  afford  you  gratification. 
"Your  obedient  servant, 

JOSEPH  THOMASON." 

"My  word!"  said  Miss  Montresor. 

Between  the  second  and  third  acts  there  was  a  heavy 
change  of  scene,  but  the  heroine  did  not  change  her 
travelling  dress,  and  Miss  Austin  returned  to  her  dress- 
ing-room with  plenty  of  time  to  converse  with  Miss 
Montresor,  whom  she  had  asked  to  wait  for  her  there. 
The  officer  and  Mr.  Higgins  had  long  since  departed, 
but  she  found  Mr.  Daley  pacing  up  and  down,  sentinel- 
wise,  outside  the  door. 

She  went  into  the  room,  and  smiled  at  the  girl,  who 
rose  at  her  approach. 

"Miss  Montresor,"  she  said,  "could  you  care  to  go 
in  front  for  the  rest  of  the  piece?  Mr.  Daley  is  wait- 
ing to  take  you  back  to  your  box." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl.  "I  should  be  very- 
glad. "  She  spoke  with  the  dignity  of  humble  sadness, 
out  of  an  immense  gentleness  and  reserve. 

"And,"  said  Miss  Austin,  "it's  a  good  deal  to  ask, 
but — those   people   out  there  have   seen   you   in   these 
jewels.     I  can't  bear  they  should  see  you  without  them, 
this  same  evening." 
10 


146  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Thank  you;  you're  kind  to  think  of  it.  But  I'm 
done  with  all  that,  with  being  like — wot  did  he  say, 
'like  a  shop-window';  that  was  never  my  choice,  that 
wasn't." 

Miss  Austin  came  up  and  put  her  hands  on  the  girl's 
shoulders.  "My  dear,"  she  said,  "we've  made  you 
suffer  a  great  deal  here  to-night,  between  us  all.  But 
we  suffered  a  great  deal — for  you,  too;  and  if  I  didn't 
quite  believe  in  you,  as  Mr.  Daley  did,  I'm  a  good  bit 
older  than  either  of  you,  and  sometimes  I  don't  quite 
believe  in  myself.  It's  been  a  great  happiness  to  me 
to  find  you  out,  and  I  hope  and  pray  we  shall  be 
friends."  She  lifted  caressingly  in  her  hand  the  clus- 
ter of  rose-diamonds;  the  lovely  flush  trembled  like  a 
living  breath  in  the  pure  stone.  "Please  keep  this," 
she  insisted.  "It's  like  you,  you  know,  and  like — like 
your  name,  Rosalba.  Won't  you  take  it?" 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then,  "I  don't  mind!" 
said  the  girl.  Suddenly  she  put  her  face  against  Miss 
Austin's  shoulder. 

After  a  minute  or  so,  "I  shall  be  a  guy  to  go  in 
front  with  Mr.  Daley,  shan't  I?"  said  Miss  Montresor. 
She  produced  a  powder  puff,  and  patted  her  nose. 

Miss  Austin  drew  her  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
The  girl 's  fingers  were  still  clinging  to  the  elder  woman 's 
hand,  but  she  moved  forward  to  Mr.  Daley,  at  once 
serene  and  shy  amidst  her  liquid  clatter  of  tinkling 
jet.  In  the  breast  of  her  black  dress  the  rose-white 
diamonds  made  a  little  nest  of  light. 

Miss  Austin  smiled  to  the  manager.  "Take  care  of 
her,  Bob.  Good-bye." 


THE  PRINCESS  ROSALBA  147 

"I'll  try,"  said  Mr.  Daley.  "We'll  be  back  after 
the  piece." 

"Good-bye,  Bob,"  she  replied. 

He  opened  the  door  that  led  to  the  box,  and  stood 
aside  for  the  girl  to  pass.  She  stepped  forward  with 
her  sweet,  mannered  bow,  and  he  lifted  his  head  and 
followed  her. 

Miss  Austin  went  back  into  her  dressing-room  and 
stood  at  her  make-up  shelf  packing  up  her  jewels,  the 
care  of  which  she  suddenly,  somewhat  indifferently,  con- 
fided to  her  maid.  The  light  on  the  big  looking-glass 
was  very  strong.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  face  had 
never  looked  so  long  or  so  lined,  so  hollowed,  so  full 
of  creeping  shadows.  She  took  up  her  rouge-paw.  As 
she  did  so  her  eye  fell  upon  a  phrase  of  Thomason's 
communication  which  lay  open  on  the  shelf — "When 
I  saw  how  admirably  they  became  her,  and  when  I 
imagined  her  beautiful  distress — "  Singly,  in  the 
letter,  it  had  a  genuine  and  human  ring.  The  fresh, 
docile  femininity  of  the  girl  seemed  to  float  in  it  like 
a  fragrance;  she  saw  the  bright  little  head,  the  kind 
face,  rosy  and  young,  the  round,  blue,  courageous  eyes. 

"Ah,  Thomason,  even  you!"  she  said  with  a  smile, 
and  sighed. 

The  stage  was  not  yet  set.  A  shabby  old  volume  of 
Ibsen  lay  open  on  the  shelf,  and  she  sat  down  and  be- 
gan to  read. 


THE  INTERPRETRESS 


THE  INTERPRETRESS 

U    A      MOMENT,    if  you   please!"     The   cool   voice 
J~\    of    the    star    rose    above    that    of    her    stage 
manager,  above  the  mingled  noises  of  the  big  scene — 
"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  rehearsal  is  dismissed." 

Among  the  shadows  of  the  bare  stage  her  auditors 
stopped  short  with  the  lines  stricken  on  their  lips.  Lit- 
tle groups,  waiting  for  their  cues,  turned  and  stared; 
the  stage-hands,  who  were  carrying  out  old  scenery  on 
its  way  to  the  storehouse,  wondered  stolidly  what  had 
got  into  her ;  men  looked  up  from  their  newspapers  with 
startled  eyebrows,  and  a  privileged  old  lady  who  was 
doing  fancy  work  in  a  corner,  dropped  it  and  gaped. 
The  star  turned  with  one  of  her  long  sweeping  move- 
ments that  were  so  potent  to  command  scattered  atten- 
tions. "At  ten  to-morrow,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  if  you 
please." 

She  could  not  escape,  nor  they  restrain,  their  whis- 
pers, their  hurried  speculations,  but  they  seized  upon 
their  good  luck  with  promptitude,  gathered  up  their 
belongings  and  were  off.  Only  Hilary  Ives,  her  hus- 
band and  sub-star,  remained  sitting  on  the  rail  of  the 
box  at  the  stage-right,  and  he  was  regarding  her  with 
a  wondering  but  unperturbed  amusement.  As  she  came 
down  toward  him,  she  was  stopped  by  her  stage  man- 
ager, who  called  her  by  that  long-honored  trade-mark 
of  her  maiden  name  which  he  had  not  yet  learned  how 
to  neglect. 

151 


152  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Miss  Austin,"  he  said;  "Miss  Austin,  not  ill,  I 
hope?" 

She  had  stopped  at  the  first  sound  of  the  name,  and 
she  answered  him  tranquilly — ' '  No,  Bartlett,  thank  you ; 
I'm  taking  a  day  off.  At  a  little  before  ten  to-morrow, 
will  you,  please?" 

As  she  stood  in  front  of  her  husband  they  were  prac- 
tically alone,  and  he  continued  to  sit  looking  up  at  her 
with  the  contemptuous  tolerance  of  his  faint,  antici- 
patory mirth. 

"I  am  afraid  you  don't  know  why?"  she  said. 

"To  be  quite  candid,  Mary,  no.  You're  so  little 
given  to  holidays,  you  see.  Still,"  he  added,  as  though 
in  conciliation,  "it  was  very  dramatic  of  you.  It  was 
nicely  done." 

"They're  fixing  the  lights  in  my  room.  May  we 
go  to  yours  1  I  want  to  speak  to  you. ' ' 

He  rose  at  once,  and  she  followed  him  upstairs  in 
silence;  that  short  flight,  she  remembered,  had  been  one 
of  his  reproaches  to  her.  "Why,"  he  had  asked  her, 
"did  she  take  a  theatre  where  there  was  only  one  stage 
room?  Did  she  want  to  corral  all  the  newspaper  men 
for  herself?"  When  she  had  recently  put  on  "The 
Marble  Faun"  for  him,  she  had  offered  to  build  him  a 
room  on  the  stage ;  but  he  had  said,  ' '  No,  there  wouldn  't 
be  any  window  in  that." 

He  entered  ahead  of  her  and  exclaimed  at  the  stuffy 
darkness.  He  flung  up  the  window  and  in  doing  so  ad- 
mitted rather  infelicitous  noises — the  cries  of  children 
playing  in  the  alley,  the  thumping  and  banging  of  scen- 
ery, of  crated  "properties"  as  they  were  loaded  on  the 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  153 

waiting  trucks ;  hastily  he  shut  them  out  again  with  one 
of  the  nervous  frowns  in  which,  of  late,  he  too  frequently 
indulged,  and  lighted  some  incense  in  a  Persian  saucer. 
Then,  as  she  still  lingered  on  the  threshold,  he  pushed 
forward  a  chair  for  her  with  a  charming  little  assump- 
tion of  the  formal  host. 

The  room  was  small,  but,  despite  its  smell  of  make-up, 
it  was  strangely  luxurious  for  a  dressing-room ;  the  walls 
were  even  covered  with  graceful  things,  and  chief  among 
them,  in  happy  and  unconscious  ease,  were  several  pho- 
tographs of  the  occupant.  These  latter  were  by  an  art 
photographer  who  had  made  his  reputation  through  his 
pictures  of  Hilary — Hilary  as  Bacchus,  as  the  Cupid 
whom  Psyche  loved,  as  Narcissus,  as  Endymion,  as  Gala- 
had. They  had  been  taken  a  few  years  before,  and  the 
artist  had  caught  in  them  the  look  by  which  Hilary  had 
walked  triumphing — a  look  of  wild,  elusive  innocence, 
like  the  innocence  of  the  elements,  knowing  neither  good 
nor  evil.  Hilary,  who  adored  them,  was  fond  of  laugh- 
ing at  them;  he  kept  them,  he  said,  so  as  to  remember 
what  he  had  had  to  fall  from. 

His  wife  looked  at  them  as  she  sat  down,  and  then  she 
looked  at  him.  He  had  dropped  upon  the  lounge,  and 
was  leaning  toward  her,  smiling,  with  his  hands  clasped 
on  his  knee.  He  was  four  years  younger  than  she,  and 
it  had  long  been  a  public  commonplace  that  he  seemed 
the  merest  boy.  Now  she  told  herself,  impartially,  that 
he  was  exceedingly  handsome,  but  no  longer  strangely  so. 
There  was  a  light  gone  out  of  his  beauty ;  it  was  as  though 
a  heavy  hand  had  been  laid  upon  it,  and  had  formed  it 
into  more  distinct  and  more  insensitive  outlines.  ' '  I  am 


154  MERELY  PLAYERS 

afraid,"  he  had  lately  said  to  her,  with  a  quirking  of 
his  lip,  "I  am  afraid  I  am  getting  to  look  like  other 
people ! ' ' 

"Well,"  he  asked  her  now,  "which  is  it  to  be  this 
morning,  dearest?  Reproaches,  reminiscences,  or — 
threats  ?  You  don 't  mind  if  I  smoke  ? ' '  She  continued 
to  lie  back  in  the  deep  chair,  and  his  eye  ran  over  her 
with  pride.  "You  wear  those  trailing  things  confound- 
edly well.  It's  a  pity  so  few  women  have  your  dis- 
tinction. ' ' 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  began,  "that  you  will  think  it  a 
little  of  all  three. ' '  He  moved  his  lips  in  a  delicious  ges- 
ture of  protesting  tolerance,  and  nestled  back  among  the 
sofa  cushions.  "And  yet,  I  don't  know  that  it  won't  be 
merely  an  attempt  to  justify  myself  for  a  resolution.  I 
made  up  my  mind  quite  suddenly  this  morning — in  fact, 
just  a  moment  ago,  on  the  stage — that  we  should  have  to 
separate,  Hilary.  Don't — don't  move.  I  don't  wish 
you  to  be  inconvenienced.  I  should  wish  you  to  have  all 
that  I  could  give  you  out  of  it,  at  the  worst.  Of  course 
it  would  have  been  a  great  deal  better  for  both  of  us  if 
I  could  have  brought  myself  to  this  before,  but  it 's  only 
now  that  I  can,  because  I  don 't'  love  you  any  longer. ' ' 

He  sat  up  hastily,  a  little  horrified,  a  little  shocked. 
The  last  words  startled  him,  where  he  had  expected  to  be 
only  bored.  It  was  not  that  he  believed  them,  but  their 
very  existence  was  like  a  desecration  of  himself.  The 
separation  in  question,  an  improbable  thing  which  a 
finality  in  her  voice  made  possible,  appealed  to  him  as 
somewhat  of  a  pity,  and  somewhat  of  a  relief. 

"Of  course,"  she  went  on,  "you  wtm't  contest  it?" 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  155 

"You're  not  thinking,"  he  ejaculated,  "of  an  actual 
divorce  ? ' ' 

"An  absolute  divorce.  I  must  have  either  you  or  my- 
self, Hilary.  I've  lost  you,  my  you,  already.  So  I  will 
cherish  myself. ' ' 

He  tried  to  put  aside  her  coldness,  or  her  pose  of  cold- 
ness, as  something  to  be  considered  later  on,  and  to  con- 
centrate his  attention  upon  practical  issues.  Smoking 
thoughtfully,  he  rose,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down, 
reflecting;  he  even  paused  at  the  window,  gazing  with 
blank  eyes  at  those  noisy  waifs  that  played  about  the 
waiting  trucks  and  under  the  horses'  very  feet. — Well, 
her  coldness  would  not  be  put  aside;  it  baffled  and  dis- 
torted everything !  If  it  had  not  been  for  that,  he  would 
scarcely  have  opposed  her  demand;  gossip,  he  thought, 
with  tolerant  amusement,  had  granted  it  to  her  long  ago. 
It  was  all  too  bad,  and  yet  there  were  desirable  aspects. 
He  relied  without  so  much  as  a  thought  upon  her  gen- 
erosity toward  his  material  interests,  and,  strangely  free 
as  he  had  always  been,  there  was  something  gracious  in 
the  mere  name  of  freedom.  Still,  it  seemed  impossible 
that  the  break  could  be  made  without  those  scenes  and 
accusations  whose  presence"  he  would  have  so  scathingly 
deplored.  Surely,  she  couldn  't  keep  it  up !  He  was  be- 
fore all  things  a  dramatic  artist,  and  he  yielded  an  ad- 
miration to  so  bold  a  stroke.  But  every  now  and  then 
he  strove  to  bring  things  back  to  a  center  of  gravity  by 
asking  himself  "Wkat  has  she  found  out?" 

His  wife,  in  the  meanwhile,  sat  looking  at  him — at  his 
quick  slenderness,  his  black  little  head  with  its  blue,  Irish 
eyes,  at  all  the  droll,  tender,  sparkling  graces  of  his 


156  MERELY  PLAYERS 

face;  she  looked  at  them  as  though  she  had  never  seen 
them  before.  She  acknowledged  to  herself  how  unequal 
it  had  been  to  match  them  with  her  pale  darkness,  with 
her  long,  tired  movements;  she  was  glad  to  admit  that 
whatever  heavy  dailiness  had  concerted  with  the  blunt- 
ing years  to  distort  that  gracious  and  that  airy  presence, 
still,  at  least,  he  could  make  no  movement  which  did  not 
become  him,  which  did  not  plead  for  him,  like  a  virtue. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  with  what  would  have  been 
suddenness  in  another  woman,  "there  will  have  to  be  a 
great  deal  of  business  done,  and  settlements,  and  so  on. 
You  will  want  to  realize,  won't  you,  on  most  of  our  out- 
side stuff  ?  You  will  need  a  good  deal  of  money  for  buy- 
ing plays." 

"But,"  he  declared  with  a  flash  of  sweetness,  "there 
will  be  nobody  for  me  to  play  them  with. ' ' 

"  I  'na  sorry,  Hilary,  for  one  thing.  I  want  you  to  have 
everything  else,  all  that  I  can  give  you,  without  crip- 
pling myself.  But  I  must  have  my  theatre,  my  plays, 
everything  that  is  essential  to  my  own  life.  And  that 
will  be  rather  hard  on  you.  You — you  are  rather  inti- 
mately associated  with  them." 

He  remembered  suddenly  the  part  in  the  piece  she  had 
contracted  for  with  Forster.  He  controlled  a  blinding 
rush  of  blood,  and  said,  ' '  I  play  Roy  Feverel,  of  course. ' ' 

"No.    No,  we  don't  play  together  after  this  piece." 

He  came  and  stood  over  her.  Suddenly  their  ages 
seemed  quite  equal. 

' '  Oh,  yes  we  do !  I  Ve  let  you  go  on  as  far  as  this  be- 
cause you've  stunned  me.  I  don't  know  what  damned 
ideas  you've  got  in  your  head,  but  you'll  have  to  get 
them  out  again.  Separate  if  you  want  to ;  I  don 't  care 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  157 

what  the  deuce  you  do,  in  private,  but  I  won't  be  made 
a  public  laughing-stock.  Sulks  or  not,  you're  my  wife; 
you  shan  't  snatch  things  away  from  me  as  though  I  were 
a  pet  dog.  I  play  Roy  Feverel,  understand  that.  I 
don't  give  that  up  for  any  devilish  theory  you've  got 
hold  of." 

She  slipped  her  hand  among  the  mysterious  laces  of 
her  gown,  and  brought  out  a  letter.  The  envelope  was 
addressed  in  a  woman 's  name  in  his  handwriting. 

' '  She  brought  me  this  just  as  I  was  coming  to  the  thea- 
tre. It  was  a  curious,  and,  as  we  will  agree,  an  incon- 
siderate thing  to  do,  Hilary,  but  she  seems  to  be  ex- 
tremely intemperate  in  affection,  and  she  is  very  nearly 
mad.  I  was  jealous  enough  at  first,  so  I  don't  know 
what  forgiveness  I  mightn't  have  stooped  to,  in  the  end, 
as  other  women  do.  You  told  her  when  you  left  her,  I 
believe,  that  your  nature  couldn't  be  compassed  by  any 
one  woman.  I  thought  she  liked  you  rather  well;  it 
seems  we're  pretty  good  at  that,  at  any  rate.  "What  you 
have  written  her  here  doesn't  treat  her  very  well,  nor 
me,  nor  yourself.  I  did  the  usual  sort  of  suffering,  and 
then,  just  now,  at  rehearsal,  it  all  came  over  me,  or 
dropped  away  from  me.  All  your  contradictions,  all  the 
things  I  had  endured  and  cheated  myself  into  denying 
— they  were  all  quite  clear.  There  were  some  phrases  of 
that  letter  going  over  and  over  in  my  mind,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  I  saw,  I  saw  you,  you,  just  as  you  are,  that's  all. 
It  doesn't  seem  real  that  I  don't  love  you,  but  I  don't." 

"So  it  appears,"  ne  muttered. — "She's  a  liar!"  he 
suddenly  burst  forth.  "She's  forged  that.  It's  black- 
mail. I'll  have  her  jailed!  And  you,  Mary,  I'm  sur- 
prised at  you.  I  thought  you  were  the  last  woman  to 


158  MERELY  PLAYERS 

believe  every  piece  of  malignant  gossip.  And  about  me, 
too !  After  all  the  promises  you  've  made  me !  I  thought 
you  were  above  this  kind  of  thing. —  Before  Heaven, 
Mary,  it  isn't  as  bad  as  it  looks!  You're  such  a  good 
woman,  and  good  women  don't  understand,  always, 
darling. ' '  He  slid  his  hand  down  her  arm  as  though  in 
a  reverent  caress  of  pleading.  "Give  me  another  trial. 
Don't  degrade  me.  Think  what  you're  doing.  Don't 
ruin  me  now. ' ' 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "take  the  play." 

"Oh,  don't  try  the  generosity  act!  You  know  well 
enough  what  you're  about.  Forster  wouldn't  give  me 
the  play  without  you.  Nobody '11  take  me  as  a  star  with- 
out you!"  He  dropped  down  on  the  couch  like  a  con- 
quered child  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

' '  What  a  long  time  I  was  blind ! ' '  she  said. 

He  lay  thus,  minute  by  minute,  wounded  and  shaken 
through  and  through,  and  struggling  with  a  sense  of 
dizziness.  His  luxurious,  well-ordered  life,  replete  with 
opportunity,  was  slipping  away  as  though  he  had  builded 
on  a  landslide,  but  in  truth  he  suffered  most  from  a 
sense  of  embarrassed  strangeness.  He  found  himself  in 
a  country  without  a  landmark,  and  the  vanity  which  had 
unified  his  world  staggered  in  terror  and  bewilderment. 
In  their  few  scenes  of  quarrel  hitherto,  she  had  struck 
to  monotony  one  note — "Because  I  love  you.  0 !  I  love 
you  so  much!"  And  now  he  was  forced  to  grasp  that 
it  was  not  his  misdeeds  but  himself  to  which  she  re- 
mained cold;  her  deliberate  quiet  rejected  not  only  the 
character  and  the  intelligence  that  she  had  once  cele- 
brated in  words  which  had  fired  him  like  jewels,  but 
those  bodily  graces,  those  endearing  manners,  with  which 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  159 

he  had  been  secure  to  damage  hearts.     How  was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  was  not  admired ! 

For  the  past  few  years  he  had  had  in  every  trouble 
and  perplexity  one  comfortress,  and  he  reached  out  to 
her  now.  He  caught  her  knee  with  an  unsteady  hand, 
and  held  her  sharply. 

' '  Do  you  know  what  you  're  saying  ?  You  don 't.  You 
drop  it.  You're  unnatural."  He  tried  to  give  her  a 
little  shake.  ''Wake  up,  old  girl,  you're  crazy!" 

Her  glance  scrutinized  his  hand.  ' '  I  have  waked  up, ' ' 
she  said. 

"No;  listen.  You've  gone  a  bit  daffy  over  thinking 
— well,  over  finding — that  I  was  not  what  they  call — 
faithful — to  you — " 

"Over  what?"  she  mocked,  and  laughed  out  loud. 
She  raised  her  eyes  in  her  laughter  and  they  looked  sud- 
denly upon  the  pictures  of  Narcissus  and  of  Galahad. 
"  0 ! "  she  cried,  ' '  how  faithful  have  you  been  to  your- 
self?" 

"Ah!  but  if  she  was  to  come  to  you  and  tell  you  it's 
not  true?" 

"I  am  afraid  that  makes  no  difference  now,"  she  re- 
minded him.  "I'm  not  jealous.  Only,  it's  over." 

"So,  we've  come  to  it  at  last,  by  God!  You  want  to 
get  rid  of  me !  I  believe  you  've  trumped  it  up  between 
you !  You  're  not  jealous,  no  ?  No ! — but  there  are  more 
kinds  of  jealousy  than  one,  my  girl.  How  about  the 
kind  they  call  professional?  You  must  have  your  thea- 
tre, your  plays,  everything  for  your  life,  yes;  and  you 
must  have  them  to  yourself !  It 's  a  handsome  thing  be- 
tween man  and  wife,  professional  jealousy!  Believe  me, 
I  couldn't  help  making  hits,  Mary,  neither  could  you 


160  MERELY  PLAYERS 

help  my  making  them.  Do  you  think  people  won 't  know 
why  you've  thrown  me  over?  Since  this  infernal  wom- 
an's turned  on  me,  I  suppose  you'll  be  able  to.  But 
on  my  soul,  you  've  chosen  a  pretty  time !  The  best  part 
I  ever  had.  I  should  have  made  the  hit  of  my  life  in 
it.  I've  never  treated  you  badly.  I've  only  done  what 
all  men  do.  And  this  is  a  nice,  womanly,  wifely  sort  of 
revenge  to  take — to  snatch  away  the  one  thing  I  want, 
to  ruin  all  my  prospects,  to  break  my  career — 

"Who  gave  you  a  career?"  she  said. 

It  was  though  something  had  leapt  at  him.  He  was 
struck  almost  physically,  as  by  a  blow,  with  the  change 
and  passion  of  her  face.  ' '  Hush ! "  he  exclaimed,  though 
her  tone  had  not  been  loud. 

"No!"  she  said.  "Let's  talk  of  it— of  me.  Don't 
you  think  it's  about  time?  Your  career,  always,  only, 
in  your  heart !  Then,  what  were  you  when  you  came  to 
me?  0,  you  were  a  beautiful,  a  God-given  creature, 
Hilary,  and  I  was  older  than  you — yes,  that's  what  they 
must  have  been  saying  all  this  time,  she  was  older  than 
he  was,  and  she  got  stuck  on  him!  I  did,  indeed.  I 
made  you  my  leading  man,  the  best  I  ever  had,  that's 
true.  And  then  we  were  married.  What  an  old  story, 
what  a  joke  it  must  have  been  to  every  one.  How  they 
must  have  smiled  at  the  changes  we  made  in  our  billing 
every  year:  Mary  Austin  and  a  company  including 
Mr.  Hilary  Ives:  that  was  when  we  were  engaged;  and 
then  Mary  Austin,  supported  by  Mr.  Hilary  Ives:  that 
was  when  we  were  just  married — your  twenty-ninth 
birthday,  you  remember ;  and  then  Mary  Austin-Ives  and 
Hilary  Ives.  You  didn't  know  they  were  each  a  festival 
to  me?  You  didn't?  Each  time,  at  least,  I  knocked 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  161 

away  one  step  from  the  pedestal  above  you  that  I  had  no 
right  to.  And  this  year  it  was  to  have  been  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hilary  Ives.  That  was  what  I  wanted.  It  was 
myself  I  fought  for  when  I  fought  for  you  in  that.  Was 
it  my  fault  if  people  wouldn't  have  it  inserted  into  the 
contracts?  But  you  never  forgave  me.  You  thought 
I  was  jealous  of  you — I,  who  thanked  God  day  and 
night  that  you  existed.  You  didn't  believe  me  when  I 
tried  to  tell  you  that  the  new  contracts  should  be  made 
out  equally.  Equally!  Would  that  have  satisfied  you? 
It  was  yourself  you  thought  of.  You  didn't  care  what 
became  of  me.  I'm  not  giving  you  up  because  of  this 
woman,  nor  because  of  fifty  women,  nor  because  you've 
tired  of  me  and  ceased  to  love  me,  but  because  you  never 
loved  me,  because  you're  worthless,  worthless,  and  never 
loved  anything  but  to  be  pushed  and  helped  and  made 
a  star  of,  and  I  know,  now,  that  that  was  what  you  mar- 
ried me  for ! ' ' 

He  did  not  answer,  but  he  moved  his  shoulders  in  a 
brief,  discomfortable  shrug. 

"Don't  do  that!"  she  said.  "Don't  pretend  that  it 
was  all  my  fault.  I  took  you  as  God's  gift,  it's  true, 
but  I  never  reached  out  my  hand  for  you.  You  made 
love  to  me — Oh,  what  love  you  did  make,  Hilary !  Maybe 
I  let  you  see  too  plainly,  too  soon.  I  never  hid  my  love 
for  you.  I  was  proud  enough  to  feel  that  however  many 
must  love  you,  I  was  elected  out  of  all  the  world  to  love 
you  best.  But  don't  forget  that  you  chose  me,  that  you 
sought  me ;  if  it  was  only  advancement  that  you  wanted, 
don 't  forget  that  you  used  all  of  you  to  get  it.  I  would 
have  given  you  the  advancement,  Hilary,  if  that  had 
been  what  you  asked  me  for — you  were  worth  that, 
11 


162  MERELY  PLAYERS 

heaven  knows — and  not  have  come  to  wish  us  dead  for 
shame,  as  I  do  now." 

He  looked  up  sharply  at  her  breaking  voice,  and  she 
added,  "Don't  think  I'm  crying.  I've  shed  my  last 
tears  for  you.  But  when  I  think  of  what  I  was  then,  of 
my  hopes,  of  my  thankfulness — that  was  what  I  had 
been  waiting  for,  all  my  poor  girlhood:  love,  to  give  it, 
to  feel  it,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  had  passed  the  time 
and  the  temper  when  I  was  likely  to  get  it,  and  I  had 
nothing  but  my  work  and  success  flooded  in  upon  me, 
and  then — there  you  were.  You  were  there  by  a  miracle. 
And  you  worked  a  miracle,  fulfilled  life,  and  gave  it  to 
me,  brimming,  and  all  I  asked  was  to  give  it  back  again 
to  you,  to  have  you  know  my  divine  right  of  realizing 
you,  of  interpreting  you  to  the  ignorant  universe  that 
was  waiting  for  you;  that  I  should  give  you,  in  all  I 
had  made  of  myself  and  for  myself,  some  little  part  of 
what  was  owing  to  you  from  the  world.  0  !  when  I  think 
of  what  you  were  to  me,  Hilary,  everything,  every- 
thing— "  she  had  no  tears,  but  her  breath  tore  into  sobs, 
and  she  stood,  shaking. 

He  came  over  to  her,  and  took  her  hand  from  her  eyes. 

""Well,"  he  said,  "and  how  has  your  interpretation 
turned  out  ?  What  am  I  ?  If  you  are  disappointed,  do 
you  think  I'm  not  disappointed,  too?  Do  you  think  I 
like  this  thing  I've  made  of  myself?  I  don't  look  at  it 
often,  but  since  you're  bent  on  showing  it  to  me,  I'll  own 
I  don't  like  it.  But  don't  forget  that  you,  too,  have 
failed  to  make  it  any  different!  Do  you  suppose  I 
didn't  have  some  hopes?  Do  you  think  I  wasn't  over- 
whelmed to  know  what  sort  of  a  creature  you  were,  and 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  163 

that  you  loved  me  ?  What  if  I  didn  't  love,  if  I  've  never 
loved  you,  I  was  only  a  boy,  and  I  brought  you  a  boy's 
homage.  I  was  flattered  half  out  of  my  senses  by  what 
you  made  me  seem  to  both  of  us;  I  swam  in  glory,  and 
when  I  was  with  you,  it  seemed  that  I  only  needed  to  be 
with  you  to  become  what  your  love  made  of  me.  I  had 
had  adulation,  plenty  of  it,  but  oh !  how  facilely  it  came, 
and  what  poor  stuff  it  was  when  it  did  come — I  knew 
the  honor  of  yours,  believe  me !  If  you  think  I  ever 
smiled  at  it,  if  you  think  I  ever  boasted  of  it,  you  do 
wrong  to  both  of  us.  I  had  never  had  a  thing  I  wanted 
in  my  life,  I  had  never  even  had  my  chance.  Was  I  to 
refuse  that  because  such  a  thing  as  your  love  came  with 
it? 

"Well,  you  were  too  good  to  me,  Mary,  you  gave  me 
too  much.  You  treated  me  like  a  mixture  of  a  god  and  a 
spoiled  child.  Somehow,  I  got  used  to  it."  He  had  be- 
gun to  play  with  some  lace  that  hung  from  her  sleeve, 
and  he  looked  at  it  with  a  little  tremulous  deprecation. 
' '  I  suppose,  somehow,  I  got  tired  of  it.  Your  ideal  asked 
a  good  deal,  you  know,  and  I  fell  to  having  even  no  more 
moments  of  it  to  give,  and  then  I  was  bored  by  it. — But 
if  you're  sorry  for  what  you  used  to  be,  I'm  sorry,  too, 
for  my  lost  boy.  He  had  a  very  pretty  trick  of  vi- 
sions. You  couldn't  keep  him,  and  I  couldn't,  I  shall 
be  less  and  less  like  him  all  my  life.  I'm  awful  bad, 
Mary ;  I  wish  I  wasn  't.  But  I  had  my  dreams,  too. ' ' 

"A  lie  that  is  half  a  truth,"  she  said. 

"You  were  always  good  at  quotations!"  he  cried  with 
a  sneer,  and  flung  angrily  away  from  her. 

He  sat  down  upon  the  window  sill  and  looked  out  sulk- 


164  MERELY  PLAYERS 

ily  at  nothing,  but  bye-and-bye  his  invincible  apprecia- 
tion began  to  lighten  his  discomfiture,  and  he  lifted  his 
glance  to  hers  in  a  humorous  acceptance  of  defeat. 

"That  was  the  best  I  could  do,"  he  said,  with  a  little 
resigned  motion  of  his  hand. 

"I  know.  And  you  did  it  very  well.  I'm  sorry  for 
that  lost  boy,  too.  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can  for  him. ' ' 

She  had  dropped  back  into  her  former  quiet,  and 
now  Hilary,  too,  remained  passive,  lost  on  a  strange 
sea,  following  with  his  bodily  eyes  the  departure  of  the 
first  load  of  scenery  and  telling  himself  that  he  would 
go  when  it  had  vanished ;  now  it  was  turning  the  corner, 
now  it  had  disappeared,  and  yet  he  did  not  go.  He  was 
aware  of  a  senseless  annoyance  at  their  having  loaded 
the  second  truck  too  high ;  the  man  who  stood  on  top  of 
it,  receiving  great  boxes  of  properties,  was  a  fool  not,  at 
least,  to  stop  them  now — the  load  would  be  too  heavy, 
too  unsteady,  and  they  would  have  to  delay  and  take 
part  of  it  off  again.  Hilary  now  told  himself  that  he 
would  put  off  going  till  they  had  finished  with  this  sec- 
ond truck.  But  as  the  gay  French  clock  upon  the  make- 
up shelf  struck  one  with  a  pretty  tinkle,  Mary  Austin 
said, ' '  I  wonder  if  I  may  turn  you  out,  Hilary.  I  should 
like  to  borrow  your  room  this  afternoon,  if  I  may. 
There's  no  window  downstairs,  and  you  can't  think  how 
little  I  feel  like  going  home. ' ' 

He  rose  at  once,  picked  up  his  hat,  stood  a  moment, 
irresolute,  and  then,  with  a  small,  broken  gesture  of  dis- 
may, dropped  down  again  upon  the  sill.  ' '  It  seems  very 
strange  to  leave  you  like  this, ' '  he  said. 

She  came  over  to  him,  and  her  hand  touched  his  shoul- 
der, lightly,  coolly,  but  once  it  had  closed  it  settled  there, 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  165 

as  if  in  an  ancient,  inalienable  security  and  kindness. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "Thank  you  for  the  room. 
Please  go." 

He  laid  his  cheek  against  her  fingers,  and  then  he  sud- 
denly stood  up  and  shook  hands  with  her.  "I've  been 
awfully  proud  of  you,  old  girl,"  he  said,  and  with  that 
he  left  her. 

She  stood  quite  still  for  a  little,  because  there  seemed 
no  reason  for  anything  at  all.  She  had  meant  to 
reassure  him  once  more,  as  they  parted,  that  she  would 
do  her  best  for  him,  but  the  words  had  fainted  in  her 
throat.  She  had  wished  to  be  alone  to  think,  but  that 
morning's  gift  of  insight  had  done  all  her  thinking  for 
her.  A  peculiar  sense  of  blankness  and  detachment  was 
as  near  as  she  could  come  to  any  definite  emotion.  She 
walked  over  to  the  window,  and  as  she  leaned  against  it, 
Hilary  came  through  the  stage-door  beneath.  He 
looked  dull  and  tired — yes,  and  strangely  old;  he  did 
not  return  the  door-keeper's  salute,  and  when  a  child, 
turned  off  from  clambering  over  the  trucks,  leaped  from 
a  wheel  and  cannoned  into  him,  Hilary's  frown  mingled 
with  the  sharp  snarl  of  his  oath.  He  pushed  the  child 
from  him  with  a  violence  as  malevolent  as  a  blow.  It 
was  curious  to  remember  that  whatever  he  should  do 
now,  it  could  be  neither  to  her  shame  nor  to  her  pride. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  startled  by  a  sudden  cry.  It  was 
Hilary's  shout  of  warning  as  he  instinctively  leaped  for- 
ward, his  eyes  raised  to  the  man  atop  of  the  laden  truck ; 
the  man  cried  out,  too,  for,  just  as  he  was  grasping  the 
upper  end  of  a  heavy  case  of  rifles,  he  had  slipped  and, 
struggling  for  his  balance,  lost  his  grip  on  the  case. 
The  men  who  had  been  handling  it  from  beneath  stood 


166  MERELY  PLAYERS 

upon  a  crate  near  the  curbstone  and  were  powerless  to 
avert  the  sickening  downward  crash  of  the  thing,  death- 
dealing  as  some  narrowed  avalanche,  right  upon  the  child 
whom  Hilary  after  all  had  not  frightened  away.  It  was 
Hilary  alone,  therefore,  in  a  boyish,  a  glad  surrender  to 
excitement,  who,  flinging  himself  forward,  sent  the  child 
spinning  into  safety  this  time  just  as  he  himself  was  hit 
full  upon  his  breast  and  upraised  arm  by  that  quick 
fate;  it  struck  him  down  remorselessly  enough  and  his 
wife  saw  how  still  he  lay  beneath  it. 

She  reached  the  alley  just  as  they  were  lifting  him, 
and  she  made  them  carry  him  into  that  little  stage  dress- 
ing-room which  he  had  envied  her  so  much.  People 
remarked  in  talking  it  over  that  she  never  shed  a  tear 
nor  laid  a  hand  upon  him.  Some  thought  he  was  still 
breathing  when  he  was  lifted,  but  by  the  time  he  was  laid 
down  again  and  the  electric  glare  flooded  over  him,  he 
was  quite  dead.  She  had  seemed  to  know  this  from  the 
first,  and  after  a  moment  of  their  poor  restoratives,  they 
also  recognized  it.  Some  of  them  drew  back  in  tears, 
and  many  of  them,  in  the  reverent  pride  of  common 
humanity,  moved  about  him  with  bared  heads.  "He 
looked  like  it  was  fun  to  do  it ! "  said  one  man.  Another 
replied,  "That's  the  kind  that  does  it." 

They  had  sent  for  an  ambulance,  and  there  was  a 
minute  or  two  when  the  waiting  crowd  scarcely  drifted 
across  the  threshold,  and  it  was  as  though  he  and  she 
were  really  alone.  She  stood  looking  down  upon  him, 
not  very  near,  a  marvel  to  the  people  who  knew  her  and 
her  long  frenzy  of  devotion.  There  was  a  storm  rising 
in  her;  it  would  break  when  she  should  touch  him,  but 
for  the  present  she  was  still  bound  in  a  smothered  quiet. 


THE  INTERPRETRESS  167 

For  in  her  tired  heart  she  was  watching,  yet,  his  mo- 
ment 's  impulse,  the  readiness  with  which  he  had  jumped, 
and  the  bright,  unthinking  courage  of  his  face.  The 
brightness  was  there  still,  like  something  hallowed;  it 
was  as  though,  leaping  with  both  hands  outstretched,  he 
had  not  only  seized  death  in  them  but  had  recaptured  a 
lost  illumined  grace,  the  light  and  the  wonder  of  his 
beautiful  youth.  That  grace  and  that  death  had  been 
her  last  gifts  to  him,  since  it  was  she  who  had  first  de- 
tained and  then  sent  him  away  to  that  decisive  moment ; 
they  formed  the  final  version  of  his  complexities,  her 
last  interpretation. 

To  the  accusing  pain  that  began  to  break  her  strength 
to  pieces,  as  if  it  were  the  reproach  of  Hilary's  voice, 
she  answered,  ' '  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  you ! ' ' 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY 

stage  manager  looked  ruefully  at  the  sealed 
1  envelope  of  the  telegram,  and  stuffed  it  into  his 
pocket.  The  back  doorkeeper,  who  had  been  hoping  that 
Mr.  Edward  Farnum,  the  person  to  whom  the  telegram 
was  addressed,  would  get  there  first  and  secure  his  prop- 
erty, went  on  chewing  his  toothpick,  and  looked  with 
ostentatious  indifference  at  his  finger-nails. 

In  the  little  hall  the  gaslight  flared  and  wavered ;  over 
the  dust  and  unset  stage  beyond  some  obscure  window 
shed  a  draggle  of  daylight.  The  time  drifted  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  matinee  hour ;  the  ingenue  entered  and  the 
stage  manager  smiled  at  her  in  vague  propitiation  of  the 
universe.  She  selected  her  letters  from  the  rack  and 
went  cheerfully  on  her  way.  She  had  glanced  a  little  ap- 
prehensively at  the  pigeon-hole  labelled  F,  but  there  was 
nothing  there.  The  stage  manager  continued  to  fidget 
uneasily  about. 

A  thickset  man  in  a  light  overcoat  came  in,  got  his 
key  and  a  postal  card  and  stopped  to  speak  to  the 
stage  manager.  "Nevins  tells  me  there's  going  to  be 
a  big  matinee,  Potter,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  won't 
mind  keeping  that  property  man  of  yours  awake.  Last 
night  he  didn't  work  the  horses'  hoofs  till  I  spoke  with- 
out 'em,  and  then  he  started  in  and  drowned  out  my 
speech. ' ' 

"Yes,  certainly.  I'll  speak  to  him."  He  puttered 
171 


172  MERELY  PLAYERS 

restlessly  after  the  newcomer,  and  presently  called  to 
him  across  the  darkness  of  the  stage,  ' '  Rogers ! ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Oh — a — You  said  there  was  going  to  be  a  big 
house  ? ' ' 

"Packed,  they  tell  me."  Rogers  paused  with  a  foot 
on  the  stair  and  looked  sharply  at  the  stage  manager. 
"I  suppose  there's  no  news  come  about  Farnum 's  wife." 

"No." 

The  actor  made  an  anxious  little  noise  with  his  lips, 
and  went  up  to  the  dressing-room,  which  he  shared  with 
Farnum.  The  room  was  damp  and  chilly,  and  he  lighted 
the  two  gas-jets  to  warm  it.  As  he  turned  on  the  elec- 
tric light  in  its  wabbling  little  globe,  he  perceived  that 
Potter  had  followed  him  upstairs  and  stood  uneasily  in 
the  open  doorway.  He  was  very  much  astonished  and 
Potter  favored  him  with  a  hesitating,  incompetent  smile. 
"It's  a  horrible  responsibility,  Rogers.  There — there 
has  a  telegram  come  for  Farnum.  I  can't  tell  him  so, 
you  know!" 

"What  in  did  you  tell  me  for,  then!     I  don't 

want  to  know!"  He  was  very  much  distressed  and 
troubled,  and  he  looked  at  Potter  with  a  savage  frown. 
"You're  not  going  to  give  it  to  him  till  after  the  matinee, 
I  suppose?" 

"Not — ah — not  till  after  to-night's  performance.  It's 
my  orders,  you  know,  Rogers.  They've  been  pretty 
blamed  strict  at  the  office  since  Teresa  Telfair  got  a 
telegram  that  her  husband  was  run  over  and  walked 
right  out  in  the  middle  of  a  performance.  These  blamed 
women,  you  can 't  tell  what  they  '11  do ! " 

"I  can  tell  you  what  a  man  tried  to  do,  all  right. 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  173 

Ned  tried  to  go  East  last  night.  There  wasn't  any  train ; 
there  won't  be  until  three  something,  this  afternoon. 
That 's  what 's  saved  your  matinee. ' ' 

"Good  Lord!"  panted  Mr.  Potter,  wiping  his  fore- 
head. "If  he  had  got  away!  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  said  to  the  office.  Look  here,  Rogers,  it's 
about  half-hour — you  don't  think  he's  gone  to  the  de- 
pot, do  you  ?  You  think  he 's  coming  here  all  right  ? ' ' 

"He'll  come  here,  if  it's  only  to  look  for  mail.  I 
left  him  hanging  around  the  hotel,  waiting  for  his  tele- 
gram. He  doesn't  suppose  that  brother-in-law  of  his'd 
be  fool  enough  to  send  it  here.  Though  he 's  fool  enough 
to  do  anything,  Sullivan.  The  telegram  he  sent  that  boy 
last  night  he  ought  to  have  been  hanged  for;  'Opera- 
tion a  failure.  Elsie  can  only  live  a  few  hours.  Will 
telegraph!'  God!  Will  telegraph!  If  she  had  to  die 
in  a  few  hours,  why  couldn't  he  keep  it  to  himself  till 
she  was — well,  dead,  poor  little  soul?  It  would  have 
saved  Farnum  all  this  suspense — suspense  without  any 
hope  in  it;  it's  enough  to  drive  him  mad.  He's  a  good 
fellow,  Ned  is,  or  the  way  he  feels  he  'd  go  to-day  anyhow. 
But  a  man  with  two  little  kids  to  take  care  of — I  said 
to  him  last  night,  'You  had  a  rotten  season  last  year 
and  look  how  you've  had  to  economize  all  this  fall, 
just  to  keep  things  going.  Have  you  been  to  a  good 
hotel?  Have  you  got  a  decent  overcoat?  Haven't  you 
lied  to  your  wife  about  your  salary,  so  she'd  think  you 
kept  enough  for  yourself?  And  all  to  pay  current  ex- 
penses. Have  you  paid  for  this  operation?  Have  you 
saved  for  the  summer  yet?  If  you  go  now  you  lose 
your  engagement  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  when 
you  can't  get  another,  and  this  company  belongs  to 


174  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  Trust ;  they  'd  never  have  you  again ;  you  know  what 
that  means.  Besides  they've  taken  a  fancy  to  you, 
signed  you  for  three  years  at  an  increase  of  salary, 
promised  you  the  bulliest  lead,  next  year,  that  ever 
came  across  the  water — why,  you'll  never  have  another 
such  chance!  Now,  can't  you  make  up  your  mind  to 
stay  here  for  your  children's  sakes?'  He  looked  right 
past  me,  and  said,  'Yes,  if  I  can't — reach — her.'  ' 

"We  could  let  him  go  for  the  funeral,"  Mr.  Potter 
mumbled.  "We  could  let  him  go  to-night  after  the 
piece,  if  there  was  a  train.  Somebody  could  get  up  in 
the  part  by  Monday.  But  these  two  performances — " 

"Well,  if  he  knew  she  was  dead,  he'd  play  your  two 
performances;  we're  used  to  that  kind  of  thing  in  this 
business.  But  if  he  thinks  there's  the  least  chance  of 
his  setting  eyes  on  her  alive,  there  isn't  any  reasoning 
or  any  management  can  hold  him.  The  children,  the 
operation,  the  winter,  every  mortal  thing  will  go  by  the 
board,  and  I  can 't  say  I  blame  him.  A  doctor  that  came 
into  the  hotel  office  as  we  got  back  from  the  depot  last 
night  told  us  if  the  facts  were  such  and  so  she  might 
live  a  couple  of  days.  Well,  it's  a  three  days'  trip, 
you  know.  Farnum  wired  them — it  was  about  two  in 
the  morning — 'Next  train  to-morrow  afternoon.  How  is 
she  now?'  and  again  at  five,  'Is  she  alive  now?'  and 
you've  got  the  answer  in  your  pocket !" 

' '  Ssh ! ' '  cried  Mr.  Potter  fumbling  with  the  envelope. 
But  Farnum  was  not  within  hearing.  On  the  stage  be- 
low the  scenery  was  being  slammed  into  place,  and  above 
the  jumbled  noises  rose  the  voice  of  the  leading  lady 
screaming  for  the  property-man;  no  pursuing  footstep 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  175 

was  tracking  Mr.  Potter  down.  "I  wonder  what  she 
wants  now?"  said  Mr.  Potter. 

" That's  only  Stella.  Why  couldn't  you  keep  this 
business  to  yourself,  Potter.  You  haven 't  got  to  dress 
with  the  man." 

"It's  my  orders,"  reiterated  the  unfortunate  stage 
manager. 

"But  what  did  you  tell  me  for? — You'll  have  to  come 
in  or  go  out,  Potter,  I  've  got  to  make  up. ' ' 

Mr.  Potter  wavered  miserably  out  and  disappeared, 
and  Rogers  kicked  the  door  to  and  stood  drumming  on 
the  make-up  shelf  with  violent  fingers.  What  was  he  to 
do?  After  all,  ought  Ned  to  know  about  the  telegram? 
Even  if  he  did  know,  Potter  wouldn't  surrender  it,  and 
if  there  was  a  fuss,  he,  Rogers,  might  lose  his  position ;  he 
would  be  done  for,  with  that  management  at  any  rate, 
and  that  management  was  in  with  the  Trust.  Surely 
it  wasn  't  his  fault  if  Sullivan  was  unreliable  and  didn  't 
send  his  messages  in  the  way  they  should  go!  But  he 
did  not  know  how  he  should  face  Farnum.  What  did 
the  telegram  say?  Was  she  really  dying,  poor  little 
girl,  or  was  she  already — He  always  thought  of  the 
Farnums  as  adventurous  children,  and  he  remembered 
almost  with  a  start  that  their  boy  was  four  years  old. 
"We  marry  too — young  in  this  business!"  he  ejaculated. 

The  theatre  was  beginning  to  grow  populous  and  busy ; 
its  damp  despondency  was  threaded  by  brisk  voices  and 
thawed  into  comfort  with  the  warmth  of  gas.  Rogers 's 
dressing-room  was  above  the  prompt  entrance,  close  to 
the  auditorium;  he  could  hear  the  boys  tearing  up  to 
the  gallery,  calling  and  stumbling.  The  steam  had  just 


176  MERELY  PLAYERS 

been  turned  on,  and  it  spit  and  rumbled  in  the  crackling 
pipes.  The  afternoon  was  settling  to  the  trivial,  homely 
business  of  a  matinee — the  business  which,  in  the  work- 
aday life  of  acting,  it  is  so  difficult  to  believe  can  really 
be  interrupted.  With  something  of  a  sigh,  Rogers,  too, 
prepared  for  harness.  He  took  off  his  coat,  and  then 
loitered  before  the  make-up  shelf  with  his  necktie  hang- 
ing. How  pretty  Elsie  Farnum  was!  What  a  kind, 
hopeful,  girlish  look  she  had!  Suppose  that  she  were 
still  alive  and  expected  that  this  telegram  would  bring 
her  husband  to  her?  Fred  Donnelly,  the  comedian, 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  wanted  to  know  if  Farnum  had 
come,  if  there  was  any  news  of  Farnum 's  wife?  No, 
Rogers  said,  no  news.  The  comedian  said  there  was  go- 
ing to  be  a  cracking  audience  out  front  and  departed. 
Looking  after  him,  Rogers  began  to  experience  the  emo- 
tions which  had  driven  Potter  to  seek  a  confidant. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  It  was  past  half -hour.  Very 
like  Farnum  would  not  come  in  till  overture  was  called. 
What  kind  of  state  would  he  be  in,  when  he  did  come? 
How  ghastly  it  would  be  if  he  talked  about  her!  How 
ghastly  it  would  be  if  he  didn't!  Rogers  was  fond  of 
Ned  Farnum;  he  liked  Elsie  as  he  liked  few  women. 
Ned  had  known  that,  and  it  had  led  him  to  some  few 
intimate  talks  of  her.  She  moved  in  Rogers 's  conscious- 
ness sweet  with  the  qualities  which  Ned  had  taught  him 
to  admire  and  expect — a  kind  heart,  an  innocent  courage, 
gentleness,  constancy,  a  bright,  cordial  way  of  speech, 
a  certain  fall  of  her  hair  over  one  temple,  a  certain  line 
of  her  wrist  as  she  shook  hands. — There  was  another 
knock,  and  the  ingenue,  little  Mabel  Rose,  came  in  hur- 
riedly and  sat  down  on  Farnum 's  trunk. 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  177 

"Mr.  Rogers,"  she  said,  "poor  Mr.  Farnum  hasn't 
any  news  yet,  has  he,  about  his  wife  ? ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"Isn't  it  all  dreadful?  I  heard  about  it  this  morn- 
ing. Mr.  Farnum  *s  so  sweet  and  good.  I  saw  Mrs. 
Farnum  at  the  station.  She's  very  pretty — don't  you 
think  so  ? — like  a  young  girl.  They  've  got  two  children, 
haven't  they?" 

"Yes,  one's  a  baby.  God  knows  what  they'll  do  with- 
out her." 

"He's  very  fond  of  her,"  said  Miss  Rose,  softly. 

"  If  he  hadn  't  been  so  fond  of  her, ' '  said  Mr.  Rogers, 
with  a  kind  of  hoarseness,  "he  mightn't  have  to  stay 
away  from  her  now.  It's  no  wonder  she  looks  like  a 
young  girl.  It 's  been  his  one  thought  to  keep  her  happy 
— to  keep  her  gratified  and  light-hearted.  I  had  dinner 
with  them  before  we  left ;  they  've  got  the  prettiest  little 
flat  you  ever  saw,  and  when  he's  away  her  mother  lives 
there  with  her,  and  they've  got  a  servant  and  the  Lord 
knows  what.  I  said  to  Farnum  it  was  no  wonder  she 
and  the  children  were  always  dressed  to  kill,  if  his  wife 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  clothes,  and  he  gave  me 
one  of  those  grandee  looks  of  his  and  said:  'I  didn't 
marry  her  to  keep  her  in  the  kitchen' — I  didn't  marry 
her  to — that's  all  very  well,  but  who's  Farnum,  and 
what  kind  of  salary  does  he  get  that  they  should  all 
trot  off  to  the  country  in  the  summer,  and  people  here 
and  there  to  dinner,  and  a  fur  coat  down  to  her  knees 
that  he  smuggled  in  from  Canada — one  thing  and  an- 
other, I  tell  you  it  costs  money!  And  if  you  admire 
anything  about  the  place,  you'd  think  they'd  cut  the 
whole  thing  out  of  an  old  cigar-box!  Ned  built  the 
12 


178  MERELY  PLAYERS 

couch,  and  Ned  painted  the  woodwork,  and  Ned  made 
the  piano  out  of  a  toothbrush,  I  daresay,  and  Elsie 
picked  this  up  for  a  dollar  and  ninety-nine  cents,  and 
Elsie  saved  so  many  thousands  of  watermelon  seeds  and 
made  portieres  of  'em — it's  not  so  funny,  is  it?  Poor 
old  Ned,  poor  boy!" 

The  ingenue  sighed.  "I  wish  the  telegram  would 
get  here  in  time  for  him  to  catch  the  three  o  'clock  train. 
Mr.  Maltham  says  he  might  reach  her  yet." 

"Oh!  Sullivan  could  keep  it  from  getting  here  on 
time,  if  anybody  could.  He's  an  adept  at  anything 
clumsy,  Sullivan  is." 

She  sighed  again  and  rose.  "Well,  I  must — Why, 
what's  the  matter!" 

They  listened;  Rogers  with  the  nervous  apprehension 
of  hearing  Farnum  in  a  fight.  Suddenly  he  smiled. 
' '  Stella  wants  the  steam  turned  off,  that 's  all. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Mabel  Rose.  "It's  Miss 
Cortelyou.  Well,  I  'm  late.  I  must  go  and  dress. ' ' 

The  door  closed  after  her,  and  Rogers  plunged  into 
his  make-up.  It  was  blotchy  and  ineffective ;  all  his  ef- 
forts to  improve  it  made  it  worse.  If  only  he  had  not 
got  started  about  that  flat  of  the  Farnums !  He  remem- 
bered it  so  well  and  all  the  happiness  it  had  held;  the 
little  Sunday  dinners  when,  the  servant  being  out,  Elsie 
Farnum  waited  on  the  table  and  everybody  helped  with 
the  dishes;  the  evenings,  when  people  came  to  play 
cards,  and  sing,  and  eat  Welsh  rabbits,  feeding  little 
Eddie  with  forbidden  mouthfuls ;  and  then  the  quiet  flat 
last  June,  with  Elsie  in  the  steamer-chair  at  the  window 
and  her  baby  on  her  breast.  Rogers 's  unfortunate  mem- 
ory recalled  a  walk  he  had  taken  with  the  Farnums  one 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  179 

warm  September  night.  They  had  gone  into  the  park; 
Rogers  had  come  up  from  a  Twenty-eighth  Street  board- 
ing-house, and  it  seemed  infinitely  remote  and  late  and 
tranquil  in  the  sweet  whispering  darkness  of  the  trees. 
And  on  the  way  home  Mrs.  Farnum  had  lost  her  locket, 
and  had  made  them  turn  back  to  look  for  it,  and  had 
mercilessly  walked  and  peered  and  scrambled  in  the 
search.  It  was  Rogers  who  found  it,  lying  open  and  a 
little  battered,  under  an  electric  light,  and  he  saw  what 
it  contained.  Flattened  like  a  mat  under  the  little  glass 
was  what  Rogers  prosaically  described  as  "a  great 
hunk"  of  Farnum 's  thick,  fair  hair.  When  the  boy  him- 
self saw  into  the  locket  under  the  high  white  light  there 
were  tears  in  his  eyes,  he — Rogers  flung  on  a  coat  and 
went  downstairs  and  knocked  on  the  door  of  Miss  Cor- 
telyou,  the  leading  lady.  "Stella!"  he  called,  "get 
something  on,  will  you?  I've  got  to  talk  to  you." 

The  leading  lady  had  come  to  the  eyelash  stage  of  her 
make-up,  and  she  waved  Rogers  to  a  seat  with  the  hand 
that  held  a  tiny  brush.  "Sit  down,  Roggie,"  she  said. 
"I'm  trying  a  new  make-up.  Spencer  wrote  me  about 
it."  Spencer  was  her  second  husband. 

Rogers  drew  a  stool  to  a  confidential  nearness  and 
sat  looking  at  her.  What  she  had  ' '  got  on ' '  was  a  blue 
kimono  expensively  embroidered  with  gold  birds;  she 
had  gained  in  position  of  late,  in  influence,  she  was  still 
young  and  very  handsome,  very  popular;  just  now  she 
could  not  be  lightly  dealt  with,  nor  easily*  replaced;  if 
it  were  she  now  who  would  tell  Farnum — he  recoiled 
from  the  shabbiness  of  the  thought.  He  had  only  come 
to  talk  things  over  with  her. ' ' 

"You  paint  them  on  with  this  dear  little  brush,"  said 


180  MERELY  PLAYERS 

Miss  Cortelyou.  "You  don't  put  anything  on  your 
lashes,  and  then  you  paint  lashes  down  on  to  your 
cheeks  like  shadows;  they  say  it's  the  way  they  do  in 
Paris.  Now  look,  Roggie,  do  you  suppose  they'll  show 
from  front?  Now  look!  What  were  you  going  to  say 
when  you  came  in?" 

"Stella,"  said  Mr.  Rogers,  "there's  a  telegram  here 
for  Farnum." 

"Oh,  my  Lord!"  said  Miss  Cortelyou.  She  plumped 
her  hands  down  on  the  make-up  shelf  and  stared  into 
Rogers 's  face. 

"And  Potter's  got  it." 

"Potter's  got  it?"  she  said  blankly;  and  then,  "Oh! 
they  won 't  let  him  go. ' ' 

"Of  course  they  won't."  He  beat  a  nervous  tattoo 
upon  the  make-up  shelf.  "But  what  did  they  tell  me 
for?" 

"He's  a  fool,  that  Potter,"  declared  Miss  Cortelyou 
extricating  Potter  from  the  managerial  plural  with  ener- 
getic contempt.  "I'm  not  going  to  put  a  foot  on  that 
stage  if  he  lets  them  turn  the  steam  on  like  this  again. 
He  doesn't  even  know  enough  to  ring  up  and  ring  down, 
he — What  did  you  tell  me  for,  Roggie?  Do  you  want 
me  to  tell  Farnum?" 

' '  My  dear  girl !     It 's  no  affair  of  yours ! ' ' 

"But  if  he  doesn't  see  her  again!  My  baby's  eight 
years  old  to-day, ' '  she  inconsequently  added,  choking  up. 

A  silence  fell.  Miss  Cortelyou  carefully  dried  her 
eyes ;  she  blew  her  nose,  and  put  some  more  powder  on  it. 

"When  he  does  get  that  telegram,"  she  began  with 
growing  cheer,  "there'll  simply  be  the  devil  to  pay. 
And  I  should  think  there  would!  It's  a  good  thing 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  181 

for  them  they  never  tried  any  of  those  tricks  on  me! 
Do  you  suppose  if  my  baby,  if  Regina  was  in  danger, 
and  that  was  my  telegram — what  did  you  tell  me  for, 
Roggie?  You've  made  me  sick.  I  shan't  be  able  to 
act!"  Her  mouth  quivered.  She  looked  at  it  in  the 
glass  and  touched  it  up  with  the  end  of  a  finger  she 
had  dipped  into  the  lip-rouge.  "It  wouldn't  take  me 
two  minutes  to  tell  him  if  I  thought  she  was  alive" — 
"If  I  knew  she  was  alive,"  continued  Miss  Cortelyou, 
her  self-esteem  mounting  with  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice,  "  I  'd  tell  him  if  I  did  it  under  Hendrick  's  nose ! ' ' 
Joseph  Hendricks  was  the  manager  and  owner  of  the 
company. 

Mr.  Potter's  voice  was  raised  outside:  "Mr.  Farnum 
come  yet?"  A  voice  replied,  "Been  in  and  out  two  or 
three  times,  sir." 

"You  hear  that?  Don't  you  know  what  that  boy's 
suffering  ? ' ' 

Mr.  Rogers  looked  casually  at  his  watch-chain  and 
discovered  that  his  nervousness  had  broken  it.  "But 
there's  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  insisted. 

"Isn't  there?" 

Rogers  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment  as  she  snatched 
out  her  hairpins,  dexterously  divided  the  front  hair  from 
the  back,  and  having  jammed  up  the  latter  into  position 
for  the  matinee,  jumped  up  and  stuck  her  head  out  of 
the  door. 

"Here!"  she  called  to  a  stage-hand.  "You  ask  Mr. 
Potter  to  come  here  a  minute,  will  you?  Mr.  Potter, 
yes,  the  stout  gentleman,  the  stage  manager.  Say  Miss 
Cortelyou  wants  to  speak  to  him." 

She  illumined  her  face  at  the  young  man  with  the 


182  MERELY  PLAYERS 

smile  that  played  most  of  her  parts  for  her,  and,  as  she 
came  back  to  her  dressing-place,  her  nostrils  dilated 
with  heroism.  "I  just  guess  I  count  for  something  in 
this  company,  and  I'm  not  going  to  try  to  act  with  that 
boy  when  he's  being  kept  away  from  his  wife's  death- 
bed. They'll  find  they  don't  play  any  of  their  tricks 
when  Stella  Cortelyou's  around!"  she  said. 

"Now,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  Stella!"  said 
Mr.  Rogers  with  considerable  disquiet.  ' '  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"  1 11  tell  you  one  thing  I  'm  not  going  to  do ;  I  'm  not 
going  to  put  a  foot  on  that  stage  until  Farnum  has  his 
telegram !  Oh,  yes !  now  get  up  and  jerk  about !  You'll 
see!" 

"What's  the  use  of  making  such  a  bluff?  You'll 
only—" 

"Bluff!  You  people  in  this  company  don't  know 
me  yet.  You  think  Cortelyou's  so  easy-going  that  you 
can  always  get  around  her,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
when  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it."  She  was  continuing  to 
get  ready  for  the  performance,  moistening  little  sections 
of  hair  into  points  as  a  preparation  for  the  curling  iron. 
She  thrust  the  iron  fiercely  into  the  gas  as  she  said  to 
Rogers:  "I'm  very  slow  to  get  worked  up,  but  once 
I'm  started,  Hendricks  nor  Engle  nor  the  whole  Trust 
couldn  't  stop  me !  If  I  make  up  my  mind  to  close  this 
theatre  to-day,  it  won't  be  the  first  time  I've  kept  a 
house  dark.  If  Spencer  were  here,  he  could  tell  you — 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Miss  Cortelyou  lowered 
portentously  at  Rogers  from  under  the  curling-iron. 
' '  Come  in  ! "  she  cried. 

Mr.  Potter  entered.     "You  wanted  to  speak  to  me, 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  183 

Miss  Cortelyou."  He  looked  with  some  surprise  at 
Rogers. 

"Mr.  Potter,"  said  Miss  Cortelyou,  with  volcanic 
calm,  "is  it  true  that  you  are  detaining  a  telegram  ad- 
dressed to  Mr.  Farnum?" 

Mr.  Potter's  eyes  popped  forward,  and  he  came  as 
near  to  stiffening  himself  as  the  gelatinous  quality  of 
his  physique  would  let  him.  But  privately  he  stood  in 
mortal  terror  of  Farnum  and  the  inescapable  moment  of 
their  reckoning,  and  he  almost  instantly  collapsed. 
"You  had  no  business  to  tell  her!"  he  quavered  re- 
proachfully to  Rogers. 

"You  had  no  business  to  tell  me  either."  Rogers 
extracted  what  comfort  he  could  from  this  reflection. 

Miss  Cortelyou  waved  him  out  of  the  discussion. 
"You  needn't  suppose  he's  backing  me  up  in  this.  I 
don't  expect  any  help  from  anybody  in  this  business, 
least  of  all  from  any  of  the  men  in  it.  I  just  sent  for 
you,  Mr.  Potter,  to  tell  you  I  wasn't  going  to  put  a 
foot  on  that  stage  till  Ned  Farnum  gets  his  telegram." 

A  sense  of  the  inadequacy  of  human  speech  surged 
upon  the  brain  of  Mr.  Potter  and  overpowered  it.  As 
he  looked  into  the  face  of  Miss  Cortelyou  and  beheld  its 
mingled  fury  and  complacence,  he  was  tremulously  and 
impotently  aware  of  his  desire  to  strike  her.  He  felt 
that  he  would  have  given  a  week's  salary  to  let  her 
know  for  once  what  a  silly  thing  he  thought  her.  What 
he  said  was :  ' '  Oh,  come,  come !  Miss  Cortelyou ! ' ' 

' '  All  right, ' '  said  Miss  Cortelyou.  ' '  If  you  think  you 
can  give  this  performance  without  me,  you  give  it. 
You've  got  an  understudy,  I  suppose.  She  can  wear 
all  my  dresses  if  she  wants  'em."  She  knew  very  well 


184  MERELY  PLAYERS 

that  no  understudy  work  had  been  assigned  as  yet  and 
she  threw  back  her  head  in  triumph.  "If  you'd  at- 
tended to  your  business,  you  could  let  Farnum  go  as 
well  as  not  and  put  his  understudy  on.  Where  are  your 
understudies,  anyhow?  Bring  out  your — " 

"Miss  Cortelyou!"  The  exasperated  Potter  found  his 
voice.  "I  never  heard  of  such  unprofessional  conduct! 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  all  my  life!  How — 
how  dare  you?  How  dare  you  carry  on  like  this  about 
no  affair  of  yours?" 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  make  it  my  affair  then,  when  that 
poor  woman's  dying  off  there,  and  got  two  little  bits 
of  children,  poor,  sweet,  pretty  things!  People  always 
say  to  me,  'Stella  Cortelyou,  you've  got  a  great,  big 
heart,  that's  what  you've  got!'  and  it's  kept  me  back 
in  my  career ;  I  know  that ;  but  I  don 't  care.  And  when 
I  think  maybe  that  poor  little  soul's  dead  this  minute, 
and  you  with  her  message  in  your  pocket — What  does 
it  matter  about  your  miserable  performance?  What 
does  it  matter  to  Hendricks  if  he  does  lose  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  ?  Just  suppose  it  was  your  own  wife !  You 
wouldn't  care  a  hang  for  any  audience,  you — " 

"Miss  Cortelyou,"  cried  Mr.  Potter,  "I  oughtn't  to 
stop  and  argue  with  you  one  minute,  but  see  here — I  do 
know,  well  enough,  what  I'd  do,  or  any  other  man,  and 
it's  because  of  that,  because  he'd  throw  over  everything, 
and  leave  us  in  the  lurch,  with  no  performance  to-day, 
that,  for  my  own  wife 's  sake,  I  don 't  dare  tell  him,  Miss 
Cortelyou. ' '  There  was  a  little  silver  toy  of  a  whiskey- 
flask  mixed  up  with  a  package  of  lime-drops  on  the  make- 
up shelf,  and  Mr.  Potter  wabbled  a  flabby  hand  at  it  as 
he  continued :  "I  won 't  deny  it  was  my  own  weakness 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  185 

lost  me  my  position  two  or  three  years  running,  and  I 
don't  suppose  I'll  ever  get  back  to  what  my  wife  had 
a  right  to  expect  when  she  married  me.  But  I  promised 
her  this  season,  when  I  got  in  with  the  Trust  again,  I 
wouldn't  let  anything  on  God's  earth  put  me  out  this 
time,  and  I  won't.  I'm  as  sorry  for  Farnum  as  any 
man,  but  it's  my  wife  and  children  against  his,  and 
I  'm  going  to  look  out  for  mine ! ' ' 

"Fifteen  minutes!"  The  stage  manager's  assistant 
tapped  at  the  door;  "fifteen  minutes,  Miss  Cortelyou." 

"You  hear  the  time,"  she  said,  and  raised  her  brows. 

When  Mr.  Potter  attempted  to  be  firm,  he  invariably 
blustered.  "All  right!"  he  cried,  "please  yourself. 
But  if  I  were  you,  I  'd  pay  some  attention  to  the  time  on 
my  own  account.  You  can  work  a  bluff  once  too  often, 
Miss  Cortelyou,  and  the  management's  getting  pretty 
tired  of  this  sort  of  thing.  A  man 's  at  his  wits '  end  with 
you.  But  for  me,  I'm  through.  This  matinee 's  the 
best  house  this  season,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  the 
curtain  held  one  minute. ' ' 

"Aren't  you?"  said  Miss  Cortelyou.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it  ? " 

"I'm  going  to  have  it  go  up  on  schedule  time;  and 
when  your  cue  comes  you'll  go  on  for  it,  as  you  always 
do.  I  notice  you've  never  missed  a  performance  yet." 

"Oh,  you  reproach  me  with  that,  do  you!"  As  she 
talked  Miss  Cortelyou  had  been  cramming  into  her  al- 
ready elaborate  tresses  the  hairpins  attached  to  several 
formless  little  bunches  of  false  curls.  She  now  drew 
back,  completed,  from  the  mirror,  and  gazed  into  it  for 
one  last  scrutiny.  Satisfied,  she  kicked  off  her  slippers, 
and  put  on  a  stage  pair,  glanced  at  her  first-act  dress  as 


186  MERELY  PLAYERS 

it  hung  ready  and  waiting  on  the  opposite  wall,  and 
flung  herself  into  a  chair.  In  an  excess  of  formal  feel- 
ing she  drew  her  kimono  across  her  petticoat  and  fastened 
it  with  a  hatpin.  She  folded  her  arms.  "Now,  Mr. 
Potter,  let 's  see  you  make  me  go  on ! " 

Mr.  Potter  fumbled  with  the  door,  wondering  whether 
it  would  be  wise  to  go  out  and  bang  it.  He  had  no 
great  fear  that  Miss  Cortelyou  would  carry  out  her 
threat  to  its  extremity,  but  she  might  carry  it  out  far 
enough  to  delay  the  performance — to  make  two  or  three 
overtures  necessary,  for  instance — and  get  him  into 
trouble  with  "the  front  of  the  house."  Mr.  Freelman, 
the  business  manager,  was  not  a  person  to  be  trifled  with. 

"It's  getting  late,  Roggie,"  said  Miss  Cortelyou. 
' '  You  'd  better  dress,  in  case  there 's  a  performance. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Rogers;  "it  don't  take  me  long.  I 
got  you  into  this  nonsense,  Stella,  and  I'll  sit  it  out." 

A  little  travelling  clock  on  the  make-up  shelf  ticked 
steadily.  Miss  Cortelyou  discovered  that  her  rings  had 
got  into  the  powder-box,  extricated  them,  blew  on  them, 
polished  them  with  her  handkerchief  and  slipped  them 
on  her  fingers.  The  contrast  between  the  silence  of  the 
little  room  and  the  noises  of  the  busy  stage  outside  be- 
came intolerable.  On  the  floor  above,  Farnum  must  be 
making  up  by  now,  miserable,  passive,  unconscious  of 
the  battle,  and  three  days'  journey  to  the  east  a  girl 
lay  dead,  or,  dying,  waited  for  him.  Miss  Cortelyou 
sat  in  an  ominous  quiet  and  turned  up  her  nose. 

Suddenly  the  overture  was  called.  The  assistant 
hailed  Potter  from  without.  "It's  overture,  Mr.  Potter. 
Shall  I  ring  in?" 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  187 

"Yes.  Or — no — wait  a  minute.  Well,  yes;  I  guess 
you'd  better." 

' '  Huh ! ' '  said  Miss  Cortelyou. 

A  footstep  with  a  peculiar  drag  in  it  passed  the  door. 

"There's  Ned,"  said  Rogers. 

"Why,  that's  not  his  step." 

"Yes,  it  is.     He's  been  up  all  night,  you  know." 

The  overture  burst  forth.  Even  through  the  closed 
doors  it  had  a  sound  of  exasperating  triumph,  security, 
and  inevitable  procedure.  Miss  Cortelyou  stirred  un- 
comfortably. 

The  overture  played  itself  out.  Mr.  Potter  must  go 
forth  now,  if  ever,  to  give  the  signal  for  the  lights  and 
to  ring  up  the  curtain.  He  delayed.  Miss  Cortelyou 
moved  her  fingers  nervously,  but  he  was  no  observer. 
The  stage  manager  sank  to  an  appeal.  "Good  Lord, 
Miss  Cortelyou,  do  hear  reason.  I — " 

"Potter."  It  was  the  voice  of  Freelman,  the  busi- 
ness manager.  He  gave  a  sharp  little  rap  and  entered. 
His  quick,  unhurried  nod  was  all  that  acknowledged 
Rogers  and  Miss  Cortelyou.  "Potter,  anything  wrong? 
You  haven't  rung  up." 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Potter,  "Miss  Cortelyou— I— ah— 
Farnum — well,  really!" 

"Miss  Cortelyou,"  said  Mr.  Freelman,  turning  to  her. 
He  spoke  in  the  manner  of  a  school-teacher  who  allows 
the  next  child  to  explain  itself. 

"Why,"  she  hesitated,  "I  think  that  boy  ought  to 
have  his  telegram.  I  think  it's  wicked.  Yes,  I  do.  I 
couldn't  act,"  she  stopped,  biting  her  lips.  The  easy 
tears  crept  into  her  frightened  eyes. 


188  MERELY  PLAYEES 

' '  She  has  refused  to  go  on ! "  cried  the  stage  manager, 
puffing  up. 

"That's  entirely  your  affair,  Miss  Cortelyou,"  said 
Mr.  Freelman.  "The  curtain  is  going  up  at  once.  I 
have  no  time  to  communicate  with  the  office  now.  If 
the  performance  comes  to  a  standstill  at  your  entrance 
cue,  you  must  settle  with  them  afterward.  Ring  up, 
please,"  he  said  to  Potter. 

The  leading  lady  burst  out  crying,  "If  Spencer  only 
had  an  engagement!  If  I  only  had  my  little  girl's 
school-bills  paid!  Well,  I  can't  go  on  in  a  kimono,  can 
I?"  she  cried. 

"You  want  another  overture?  It  will  have  to  go 
into  your  report  to  the  office,  Mr.  Potter." 

"Well,"  she  sniffed,  "if  you'll  get  out  I've  got  time  to 
put  my  dress  on  after  the  curtain  is  up.  But  I  swear  to 
Heaven  if  it  was  my  baby  who  was  sick,  or  if  it  was  even 
Spencer — " 

The  conquerors  started  to  withdraw.  Rogers  rose  to 
follow  them  as  Freelman 's  satisfied  voice  again  issued 
his  command  to  Potter,  "Ring  up!" 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Ned  Farnum 
stepped  into  the  room. 

Every  one  stood  still.  Farnum  closed  the  door  and 
looked  at  them.  He  himself  looked  extraordinarily  ill 
and  quiet.  It  was  not  the  quiet  of  rigidity,  but  of  a 
fatigue  so  entire  that  it  acted  on  his  manner  like  a 
drug.  A  terrible  weight  depended  upon  his  smallest 
movement;  there  appeared  in  him  an  excessive  com- 
posure, dreary  and  formidable,  and  when  he  spoke  his 
voice  dragged  heavily  with  the  ineffable  languor  of  a 


A  DANGER  OF  DELAY  189 

man  who  is  done  with  life.  Rogers  noticed  that  he  had 
on  a  particularly  careful  make-up. 

''Any  message  for  me,  Potter?"  he  said. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Farnum?    Why,  no." 

Farnum's  look  travelled  from  one  face  to  another. 
Then  he  answered :  ' '  That 's  a  lie,  isn  't  it  ? " 

The  assistant  called  "Mr.  Potter,  shan't  I  ring  up, 
sir?" 

' '  There  may  be  a  message  to-night,  Farnum, ' '  said  the 
business  manager;  "there's  none  now." 

"Oh!"  said  Farnum,  gently,  turning  toward  the 
door;  "then  I  must  start,  anyhow." 

.The  business  manager  stepped  in  front  of  the  door- 
way, and  the  stage  manager  lumbered  after  him.  "One 
moment,"  said  the  business  manager;  "let's  talk  sense!" 

"I  wouldn't  stand  there,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Farnum. 

Miss  Cortelyou  ran  to  him  and  began  to  sob  aloud. 
' '  Oh,  Farnum,  do  think  what  you  're  doing !  You  can 't 
get  to  her,  you  know  you  can't  get  to  her,  Farnum, 
anyhow!"  She  put  out  a  timid  hand  and  pulled  his 
sleeve.  "Think  of  your  children — " 

"She's  my  wife."  He  turned  on  her  with  a  jerk. 
He  had  lifted  his  eyes,  and  the  cruel  life  in  them  was 
somehow  a  relief  and  comfort  to  her.  "Do  you  under- 
stand what  that  means?  She's  my  wife.  I  didn't 
marry  her  to  let  her  die  all  alone. ' '  His  mouth  shook  in 
a  kind  of  spasm,  and  he  stopped  speaking.  Rogers, 
coming  up  to  him,  put  a  hand  on  his  arm  and  said: 
* '  Potter 's  got  your  telegram,  Ned. ' ' 

Mr.  Potter  had  neither  youth  nor  desperation,  nor 
had  nature  fashioned  him  for  mortal  combat.  He  fell 


190  MERELY  PLAYERS 

back  out  of  Farnum  's  grasp  minus  the  telegram  and  feel- 
ing of  his  throat.  No  one  noticed  him,  not  even  Freel- 
man.  All  eyes  were  bent  on  Farnum,  on  the  telegram. 
It  was  so  still  that  the  impatient  shuffling  and  stamping 
of  the  big  audience  came  clearly  into  the  hot  little  room. 
Farnum  slit  the  envelope  and  drew  out  the  paper,  he 
smoothed  it  with  a  steady  hand  and  read  the  message 
through.  His  face  did  not  change  and  he  read  it  through 
again.  Suddenly  the  paper  dropped  to  the  ground; 
he  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  with  his  face  in  his  arms, 
and  broke  into  wild  and  noisy  weeping. 

They  were  all  at  a  standstill.  With  an  apologetic 
gesture  of  necessity,  Freelman  picked  up  the  telegram, 
and  in  a  low  voice  read  it  to  the  others:  "No  need  to 
come  now — "  ("Oh,  God!"  sobbed  Miss  Cortelyou. 
"Oh,  poor — ")  "No  need  to  come  now.  Alarm  a  little 
hasty.  Crisis  past.  Sudden  change  for  the  better. 
Thought  you  ought  to  know.  Sullivan." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Mr.  Freelman  frowned 
gently  and  sucked  in  his  mouth.  The  stage  manager 
loosened  his  damaged  collar,  took  his  breath  and  blew 
his  nose.  "Mr.  Potter,"  implored  the  assistant,  "do 
you  want  me  to  ring  up?  The  audience  is  getting  as 
mad  as  the  deuce.  Shall  I  ring  up,  sir?" 

Mr.  Potter  glanced  at  the  chair  where  Farnum  was 
still  making  noises  into  his  hands.  "No!"  he  called. 
' '  Let  'em  wait,  then.  Give  'em  another  overture.  Curse 
'em,  let  'em  wait!"  He  went  over  and  flopped  an  in- 
effectual hand  upon  the  breadth  of  Farnum 's  shoulders. 
"Why,  now!"  he  said;  "why,  there!" 

The  first  notes  of  the  second  overture  rang  gayly  out. 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES 

GRADY  was  the  property  boy   of   Miss  Temple's 
company,  but,   emotionally,  he  had  tumbled  from 
his  high  estate.     He  had  foresworn  his  joyous  and  con- 
temptuous manhood  and  lost  independence,  poise  and 
caste ;  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  star. 

Of  course  this  was  not  quite  so  degrading  as  if  he 
had  selected  any  other  star.  Charlotte  Temple  was  a 
class  by  herself.  All  her  stage-hands  bragged  of  her, 
of  her  big  wages,  her  quick  tempers,  even  her  exact 
and  strenuous  requirements,  of  all  the  generous  condi- 
tions of  her  service.  Walters  and  Grady  gloried  in  tell- 
ing the  newer  men  how  last  winter  the  management  had 
arbitrarily  attempted  to  reduce  the  working  staff,  but 
"she  put  up  such  a  holler"  that  not  a  man  had  lost  his 
job.  They  bragged  even  of  that  crown-prince,  her  son, 
sturdy  and  lovely  and  brave  like  his  mother,  who  rode 
with  Grady  when  he  exercised  the  horses  that  were  used 
in  the  second  act  procession  in  "India,"  and  who  fed 
the  elephant  without  a  tremor.  Marvelous  playthings 
were  concocted  in  the  property-room  for  this  young 
Alexander — Alexander  Halcott  was  his  portentous  name 
— and  his  mother  encouraged  him  in  going  to  ball  games 
with  ' '  the  boys. ' '  Four  years  before  his  father,  the  elder 
Halcott,  had  drunk  himself  out  of  the  front  seat  of  a 
"society"  woman's  automobile  and  into  his  expectant 
grave ;  now  that  the  boy  was  six  years  old,  all  sorts  and 
13  193 


194  MERELY  PLAYERS 

conditions  of  fathers  had  been  known  to  offer  themselves. 
But  Sharlie  Temple  folded  her  arms  as  if  she  clasped 
her  son  in  them,  and  said,  No.  Her  manager,  Mr.  Lis- 
ter, a  very  powerful  and  persuasive  person,  had  become 
pressing.  But  she  slipped  out  of  every  knot  he  tied 
for  her  and  kept  to  her  undignified  habit  of  lunching 
with  obscure  youths.  She  was  neither  very  tall  nor  very 
old,  but  among  all  the  perils  of  a  truly  big  career,  she 
steered  straight  forward  like  a  ship  in  full  sail.  The 
spoiled  child  of  popularity,  the  despair  of  managers, 
the  enfant  terrible  among  syndicates,  free-lance  and 
even  freebooter  that  she  was,  Sharlie  Temple  was  the 
captain  of  every  creature  in  her  army.  So  alive,  so 
beautiful,  when  she  stood  on  her  own  stage  and  cried 
to  Sam  to  lift  a  border  or  directed  Walters  to  brace  a 
run,  it  was  as  if  her  bugles  called  ' '  Follow  me ! "  Thus 
she  was  wooed,  not  as  a  fortune  alone,  but  by  true  lovers. 
All  things  considered  there  were  excuses  for  Grady. 

But  Grady  overdid  it.  Not  only  did  he  encroach 
upon  the  spheres  of  the  carpenter  and  the  electrician  by 
building  new  steps,  that  would  not  creak,  to  her  third  act 
throne  and  by  putting  up  lights  in  her  room  according 
to  her  capricious  fancy,  just  as  if  he  had  no  union  to  pro- 
tect him  from  these  things,  but  the  very  marrow  of  his 
deportment  weakened.  In  that  world  where  the  actors 
are  afraid  of  the  stage  manager,  the  stage  manager  of 
the  stage  hands  and  the  stage  hands  of  nobody,  Grady 
had  already  exchanged  his  hauteur  for  humility,  his  jo- 
cosity for  sensitiveness,  his  shirking  slap-dash  take-it-or- 
leave-it  manner  of  performing  his  duties  (the  manner  of 
a  man  whom  these  hireling  affairs  are  constantly  dis- 
tracting from  more  important  business  of  his  own)  for  a 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  195 

desire  to  please.  People  began  to  wonder  if  he  were  ill. 
No  more  did  he  consider  the  members  of  her  company 
cranks  because  they  wanted  their  properties  whole,  nor 
the  stage  manager  too  fresh  because  he  desired  punctu- 
ality and  peace;  he  no  longer  swore  in  the  theatre — at 
least  not  often — nor  did  he  spit  on  the  stage;  he  had 
ceased  to  stomp  about  during  quiet  scenes,  he  did  not 
occupy  the  one  chair  in  sight  if  he  saw  an  actress  stand- 
ing, and  he  even  began  to  think  of  acting  as  a  trade  with 
rights  of  its  own,  and  not  as  if  it  existed  only  as  a  source 
of  revenue  to  virtuous  stage  hands.  Whom  the  gods  de- 
stroy, they  first  make  mad.  The  time  came  when  Grady 
was  not  only  cheerful  about  the  delivery  of  baggage  upon 
one-night-stands,  but  when  he  remonstrated  with  the 
men  who  threw  it  headlong  down  stairs.  Then  the  com- 
pany began  to  be  disturbed.  People  said  something  must 
be  going  to  happen  to  Grady.  And  it  did  happen.  His 
union  called  a  strike. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  first  night  in  New  York. 
Everything  was  just  as  usual;  the  gray  stage,  the  gray 
auditorium  with  the  cleaners  puttering  about  among  the 
holland  swathings,  the  men  and  women  on  the  stage 
standing  in  the  disaffected  attitudes,  and  speaking  in  the 
curiously  detached  voices  of  people  who  were  saving 
themselves  for  the  night,  and  then  suddenly  the  opening 
of  the  stage  door,  the  entrance  of  the  walking-delegate 
and  the  reversal  of  a  world.  Grady  had  felt  first  a  shud- 
der of  the  nerves,  a  chill  of  the  heart,  then,  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  cannon  he  was  cleaning,  he  saw  the  dele- 
gate and  knew.  The  consequences  were  immediate;  the 
advance  of  the  implacable  figure,  a  few  sententious  words 


196  MERELY  PLAYERS 

— bombastic  and  surly  manager,  bombastic  and  surly 
delegate  slapping  at  each  other  in  a  couple  of  irrelevant 
insults — and  then  the  company  stricken  motionless,  the 
stage  in  disorder,  the  working  staff  throwing  down  its 
tools,  reaching  for  its  overcoats,  the  strike  declared,  the 
strike  in  full  force,  the  production  paralyzed,  a  revolu- 
tion accomplished,  and  Grady's  occupation  gone.  As  for 
Miss  Temple,  the  last  glimpse  Grady  had  had  of  her  was 
as  she  had  sat  at  the  prompt-table  opening  her  mail ;  near 
her,  as  ever,  the  boy  Alec  playing  pirate  on  a  roll  of  car- 
pet, near  her — alas,  as  ever ! — towering  the  patient  Lister, 
sedulous,  attentive,  the  fur  cloak  that  she  had  thrown  off 
making  a  throne  out  of  her  chair  and  all  things  hanging 
on  her  nod.  He  did  not  look  at  her  again.  Instead  he 
passed  one  hand  over  the  mouth  of  his  beloved  cannon ; 
his,  and  hers.  He  kept  his  head  bent,  because  he  was  not 
much  more  than  a  boy,  and  there  were  things  in  his  eyes 
which  were  not  for  exhibition.  He  stumbled  over  a 
stagebrace,  cursed  it  gloriously,  tried  to  kill  it,  so  to 
speak,  with  a  kick,  and  nearly  broke  his  foot. 

In  the  property-room  he  scowled  about  him,  his  spirit 
sinking  in  the  cold  and  faint  daylight,  the  disheartening 
atmosphere  of  chilly  dust  and  drying  glue.  It  was  a 
mean  enough  place,  perhaps,  but  it  was  home  to  leave. 
He  turned  away  from  Sam  and  Walters  who  lingered  on 
the  threshold.  The  little  dull  room  brimmed  with  prop- 
erties, his  own  props,  his  beauties ;  some  that  he  had  only 
tended  and  packed  and  furbished  and  known  how  to 
place,  some  that  were  the  work  of  his  hands.  There  they 
all  were ;  weapons  and  banners,  Indian  bric-a-brac,  idols, 
jars,  screens,  the  howdah  of  the  elephant,  the  scarlet  pon- 
pons  of  the  horses,  a  rapier  that  Miss  Temple  used,  the 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  197 

trick  fan  for  her  to  break,  the  coronet  she  trod  upon,  her 
palanquin,  and  garlands  of  undying  flowers;  he  knew 
them  all  by  name  and  by  heart,  knew  every  tack  and  bit 
of  paint,  tinsel  and  lacquer,  velvet  and  muslin  and  brass. 
Only  last  night  at  the  dress-rehearsal,  still  hoping  all 
would  be  well,  he  had  set  them  out  so  fondly,  so  care- 
fully, he  had  been  so  proud  of  them,  and  now — to  lose 
them,  to  leave  them  all  to  some  darned  scab!  And  his 
cannon!  Oh,  the  cannon!  he  had  not  thought  of  that! 
She  was  bound  to  it  in  the  second  act!  Why  she 
wouldn't  trust  anybody  but  him  to  bind  her  to  it,  to  fire 
it!  No,  you  bet  your  life,  nor  he  wouldn't  trust  them 
either!  As  it  was,  her  dress  had  got  scorched  twice  be- 
fore the  leading-man  could  yank  her  away.  What !  trust 
a  new  props,  a  man  nervous  with  an  opening  night !  He 
felt  his  heart  beats  thicken  horribly,  and  he  had  a  wild 
impulse  to  fly  at  the  throat  of  the  union  and  shake  out 
of  it  the  permission  to  do  this  one  thing,  just  this  one, 
not  to  take  any  money  for  it,  not  to  be  employed  for  it, 
but  just  to  do  it,  just  not  to  leave  her,  in  danger,  to  a 
scab !  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  go. 

Into  this  conflict  Alec  ran,  cast  himself  violently  about 
Grady's  legs,  and  roared  upward:  "It  isn't  true, 
Grady,  is  it!  We  are  going  to  the  football  game,  ain't 
we,  Grady?"  He  lifted  a  wet  and  stormy  face,  dark 
with  the  same  tender  fire  as  his  mother's.  "Get  out, 
kid,"  said  Grady,  and  pushed  him  away,  a  little  roughly. 

The  child  caught  his  arm  and  shook  it.  "  It 's  a  nasty 
strike.  I  thought  strikes  was  nice.  They're  not. 
They're  nasty.  That  old  Mr.  Lister  says  you  didn't 
ought  to  go — 

"Hadn't  ought  to  go,"  corrected  Grady,  responsibly. 


198  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Hadn't  ought,  and  he—" 

' '  Alec ! ' '  said  a  voice  from  the  doorway.  The  child  still 
held  Grady's  hand  and  leaned  against  him  and  "Come 
here,  Alec,"  Mr.  Lister's  dignity  insisted. 

Alec  looked  past  him — "Oh,  mamma,  I  want  to  go  to 
the  football  game  with  Grady.  I  don 't  want  Grady  to  go 
away. ' ' 

"Grady,"  said  Miss  Temple,  "and  you,  too,  Walters, 
and  you,  Sam,  I  want  only  to  be  sure  of  something.  Your 
quarrel  isn't  with  me,  nor  with  Mr.  Lister.  You  don't 
complain  of  anything  that  I  can  remedy ;  I,  nor  my  man- 
agement. You  're  leaving  me,  at  a  time  like  this,  because 
the  men  that  belong  to  the  theatre  are  leaving  out  of 
sympathy  with  some  other  men  at  some  other  theatre — 
isn  't  that  true  ?  Well,  then,  I  want  to  tell  you,  boys,  that 
I  don 't  need  you.  Mr.  Lister  knew  you  better  than  I  did. 
He  has  got  a  corps  of  men  ready  drilled  against  this 
emergency.  They  will  be  protected  by  police.  If  any- 
thing should  happen  to  them,  I  and  my  company  will 
play  this  performance,  in  this  theatre,  to-night,  without 
scenery.  If  anything  happens  to  the  theatre,  we  will 
play  it  in  the  street. ' '  She  faced  them,  pale  with  temper, 
the  sort  that  goes  down  with  its  flag.  But  an  older  per- 
son than  she  or  Grady  might  have  seen  that  she  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  tossing  her  head  and  crying 
' '  Yah ! ' '  Then  ' '  Oh,  boys ! ' '  said  she,  on  a  deep  note  of 
her  voice,  and  her  mouth  shook. 

' '  When  there 's  a  strike  you  've  got  to  go  on  it. ' '  Alec 
pronounced,  with  sad  decision. 

Sam  and  Walters  snorted  and  left. 

Mr.  Lister  flicked  his  fingers.  "You  see  the  type  of 
notion  he  picks  up.  I,  really,  Sharlie — " 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  199 

Miss  Temple  said,  ' '  Shake  hands  with  Grady,  son,  and 
come  to  mother." 

They  shook  hands.  "So  long,  old  man.  Be  good," 
said  the  bigger  boy. 

"So  long,  Grady,"  Alec  replied  and  bravely  smiled. 
He  lifted  his  mouth  to  be  kissed  and  Grady,  rather  shyly, 
kissed  him.  Mr.  Lister  put  out  an  impatient  hand,  and 
drew  Miss  Temple's  son  to  his  side.  Already  he  could 
not  resist  the  attitude  of  authority  over  Miss  Temple's 
private  life. 

It  was  with  this  authority,  public  and  private,  that  he 
added  as  he  was  leaving,  "And  now  that  you  are  going, 
Grady,  just  see  that  you  don't  come  back.  Whatever 
terms  are  come  to  with  the  other  men,  Miss  Temple  has 
had  enough  of  you.  After  the  length  of  time  you've 
been  with  her  and  all  she 's  done  for  you,  and  the  way  in 
which  she  has  allowed  her  son  to  be  with  you,  you've 
shown  her  how  much  she  can  rely  on  you.  So  now 
you're  cleaning  out,  stay  out."  He  started  away. 

Grady  used  always  to  be  a  cross,  rough-tempered  boy ; 
at  this  moment  he  was  extravagantly  white  and  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  And  even  then  he  had  to  won- 
der why  Lister  hated  him  so,  him  in  particular  ?  ' '  Why 
is  it  me  he's  always  got  it  in  for?  And  she  lets  him! 
It  sure  isn't — she  can't  think — they  don't  suppose — are 
they  onto  me?"  thought  Grady,  and  was  swept  by  a 
horrible  flame.  He  would  have  been  cut  in  pieces,  he 
would  have  died  a  million  deaths  rather  than  betray  the 
secret  of  his  heart.  Then  he  remembered  the  cannon, 
and  cast  the  thought  of  himself  away. 

"Mr.  Lister,"  said  he  very  quietly,  "just  a  minute. 
It 's  about  the  cannon — sir.  In  the  third  act. ' ' 


200  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Well?'' 

"It  ain't  safe — really,  Miss  Temple,  you  know  it  ain't! 
I  mean,  if  I'm  not  there.  It's  hard  to  time — I  never 
touch  it  off  till  Mr.  Lawrence 's  started  to  pull  her  away. 
A  new  man,  he's  apt  to  lose  his  head.  I  know  it's  only 
powder,  but,  if  it  did  go  off  too  soon — my  lord!" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Lister,  "have  you  anything  to  sug- 
gest?" 

The  manager  was  a  man  of  excellent  capacities,  and 
he  thus  bound  Grady  and  gagged  him,  branded  him  as 
a  deserter  and  an  ingrate,  at  once  traitor  and  busybody, 
by  a  single  phrase.  Had  he,  who  was  leaving  her  to 
this,  had  he  anything  to  suggest?  Silenced  and  shamed 
he  watched  Mr.  Lister,  with  Alec  in  his  hand,  lead  the 
way  back  to  the  stage. 

But  when  he  perceived  Miss  Temple  still  upon  the 
threshold,  when  he  actually  caught  her  eye,  he  appealed 
to  her  in  a  smothered  breath — "He  means  it's  up  to 
me?" 

She  regarded  him  very  sweetly,  very  distantly,  "Ah, 
Grady,"  said  she  with  a  melancholy,  maternal  gracious- 
ness,  like  an  empress  in  distress,  "a  man  cannot  serve 
two  masters!" 

She  was  sorry  for  him!  Why?  Did  she  really  un- 
derstand one's  difficulties  or — "Is  she  onto  me?" 
thought  Grady  again,  and  the  thought  went  racketing 
about  his  heart.  His  eyelids  dropped.  Did  she  surely 
see  him  as  a  man  who  loved  her?  And  did  she  think 
that  a  man,  indeed,  would  have  stood  by  her?  Without 
looking  at  her  he  saw  her  very  well,  standing  there  like 
a  real  queen,  and  yet  just  the  sweetest  woman  God  ever 
made,  and  they  had  been  for  so  long — oh,  she  would  be 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  201 

the  first  to  say  so! — kind  of  partners.  For  all  around 
her  were  his  precious  props,  his  stack  of  Japanese  para- 
sols toppling  at  her  back,  at  her  feet  his  prettiest  red 
rug  he  had  just  mended,  and  her  cloak  touched  his 
spangled  gauzes,  piled  so  tastily  in  pinks  and  blues. 
They  made,  all  together,  an  elegant  frame  for  a  lady, 
as  if  to  show  him  just  what  he  was  leaving,  and  beyond 
them  he  was  aware  of  a  length  of  leaden  daylight  in 
which  dawdled,  strangely  unreal  and  far  away,  a  dingy 
shadow — the  stage's  open  door  and  the  dreary  figure  of 
the  delegate.  Miss  Temple  stirred,  turned,  moved  away, 
she  was  going,  going  back  onto  the  stage,  to  the  cannon, 
to  the  cannon  and  the  scab  property-boy ! — and  she  had 
trusted  him,  she  had  almost  asked  him  to  stay !  He  felt 
an  unpleasant  stiffness  creep  over  him  and  struck  out 
for  dear  life.  For  dearer  life !  For  the  delegate  was 
turning  up  his  coat  collar;  then  he  started  into  the 
street.  And  after  all,  Grady  knew  the  real  thing,  the 
thing  a  man  has  got  to  stick  to,  the  thing  you  can't  talk 
about  maybe,  but  still,  you  know — "I  could  not  love  thee, 
dear,  so  much — "  he  followed  the  delegate. 

After  such  austere  conduct,  Grady,  in  a  better  world 
than  this,  would  have  achieved  something  worthier  than 
the  fate  which  later  overtook  him.  By  that  evening 
Grady  had  got  drunk.  It  was  more  than  two  years  since 
he  had  had  a  drop  too  much,  and  even  then  he  had  never 
gone  in  for  the  stuff  enough  to  be  on  his  guard.  The 
scene-shifters  who  had  asked  him  to  have  a  drink  with 
them  had  seemed  to  him  at  first  decent,  friendly  fellows, 
but  a  little  tough,  then  they  had  become  charmers,  hearts 
of  gold,  and  then  the  brothers  of  his  soul. 


202  MERELY  PLAYERS 

He  swaggered  out  into  the  street,  and  the  cold  night, 
black  and  clear,  rushed  into  his  eyes,  into  his  nostrils, 
into  the  throat  and  blood  and  soul  of  him  like  another 
elixer,  like  another  bracer.  He  stood  still,  breathing 
deep.  Stars,  frost  and  crowds,  electric  light  and  clang- 
ing cars  and  crispy  pavements — Who  was  going  to  boss 
Grady  ?  Who  was  going  to  dictate  to  him  ?  And  about 
his  private  affairs,  too !  His  cannon  and  all !  Whose 
business  was  it,  anyhow!  Miss  Temple  was  a  friend  of 
his,  and  why  should  he  stand  for  her  being  dragged 
around  and  set  on  fire  by  a  scab  property-man? — Well, 
he  guessed  he  would  see  about  that !  Lister  had  said  he 
should  never  come  back — shouldn  't  he,  though !  What  ? 
What  were  those  fellows  bothering  about  now?  Want 
somebody  to  go  home  with  him?  No!  Certainly  not! 
Sure  he  could  get  along?  Yes,  of  course,  he  could. 
Troublesome,  meddlesome  gang ! — How  did  he  get  mixed 
up  with  that  lot,  anyhow  ?  He  started  off  to  get  rid  of 
them.  Promise  to  go  right  home?  He  promised,  and 
they  were  gone.  He  had  them  fooled.  For  he  was  a 
long  sight  too  clever  for  them.  He  wasn  't  going  home  at 
all — no  indeed.  He  was  going  to  the  theatre ! 

He  had  it  all  fixed  up.  He  would  just  go  quietly  in, 
and  he  would  ask  politely,  like  a  gentleman,  for  the 
property-man;  then  he  would  follow  that  scab,  he  would 
stand  by  him  every  move  he  made,  and  see  that  he  did  it 
right.  She  could  trust  him,  he  would  look  out  for  her. 
And  the  scab  would  be  glad  enough  to  have  somebody  to 
help  him,  to  teach  him  his  business,  particularly  a  man 
like  him,  like  Grady.  Only  it  must  all  be  polite  and 
peaceable,  perfectly  peaceable.  Yes,  at  the  theatre  they 
would  be  glad  to  see  him. 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  203 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  half-set  stage  rang  to  the 
sounds  of  a  free  fight.  This  fight,  followed  by  the  pale 
helmet  of  a  policeman,  fought  and  clawed  its  way  up 
the  stage,  till  it  was  opposite  the  property-room  and 
within  twenty  feet  of  Miss  Temple's  door.  And  sud- 
denly that  door  flew  open  upon  it  and  it  felt  her  presence, 
like  a  spell  of  might,  swoop  on  it  with  a  rush.  She  was 
motionless,  but  the  high  wind  of  her  spirit  bore  down 
upon  the  touzled,  scuffled,  snorting  mob  and  withered  it, 
scattered  it.  Only  one  man,  his  collar  torn  and  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  faced  her  and  grinned  tran- 
quilly ;  thus  publicly  confronted,  Miss  Temple  and  Grady 
stood  eyeing  each  other,  measuring  each  other  and  say- 
ing— Ha — ha !  among  the  trumpets.  "What  Miss  Temple 
said  in  words  was,  ' '  Grady ! ! ! — Come  here  ! ' ' 

Grady  set  her  an  example  in  manners  by  replying, 
"G'd  evenin',  Miss  Temple."  He  lugged  off  his 
smashed  hat  and  amiably  continued,  "I  wan'  see  prop- 
'ty-man." 

' '  Come  here ! ' '  said  Miss  Temple. 

Grady  started  forward,  Mr.  Lister  stepped  across  his 
path.  "If  you  go  any  nearer  that  lady,  I  will  have 
you  put  under  arrest!" 

' '  Aw  to  hell,  you ! ' '  said  Grady  pleasantly.  ' '  She  tole 
me  to  come,  didn  'in  she  ? ' '  Pie  put  Mr.  Lister  gently  out 
of  the  way  and  "You  can't  turn  that  hose  onta  me,  ole 
gen'leman,"  he  dropped  back  over  his  shoulder. 

"Officer — "  Mr.  Lister  began. 

"You  come,  too,"  said  Miss  Temple  simply.  She 
nodded  in  dismissal  to  the  policeman  and  the  mob.  "I 
am  much  obliged  to  you,  officer — I  will  manage  my 
stage, ' '  said  she  to  the  crowd,  and  it  faded.  She  turned 


204  MERELY  PLAYERS 

upon  the  offenders  now  within  her  gates  and  clicked  the 
latch  behind  them.     ' '  Well  ? ' ' 

"I  wan'  see  prop 'ty-man, "  Grady  insisted. 

"Indeed!  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  him 
when  you  do  see  him  ?  Dynamite  him  ?  You  seem  to  have 
very  nearly  knocked  the  theatre  down  already. ' ' 

A  phrase,  battered  into  familiarity  by  incessant  in- 
junctions of  the  union  loomed  upon  Grady 's  mind,  and 
he  said  hazily,  but  with  decision,  "No  violence!"  Then 
his  mouth  shut  with  more  of  a  shock  than  he  had  in- 
tended, and  his  eyes  closed.  Something  was  wrong  with 
him.  The  stimulus  of  the  drink  was  gone,  the  stimulus 
of  the  fight  was  going,  there  remained  only  the  confus- 
ingness  of  his  anxieties  and  the  fierce  heat  of  the  close, 
blazing  little  room.  Through  that  same  mist  of  the  sa- 
loon he  could  now  hear  Mr.  Lister  telling  Miss  Temple 
how  he,  Grady,  had  worried  past  the  stage-doorman,  how 
he  had  followed  the  new  props  about,  intimidating  him, 
until  Mr.  Lister  had  to  be  sent  for,  and  Mr.  Lister  had 
sent  for  the  police.  How  he,  Grady,  had  come  there  to 
have  his  revenge  by  tampering  with  the  cannon  (let  her 
believe  that,  if  she  could !)  and  how  the  new  man  was  so 
frightened  that  he  had  locked  himself  into  the  property- 
room — "  "He  won'  lisen!"  Grady  interrupted. 
"Prop 'ty-man  won'  lis'en.  I  splain  how  lo'  cannon. 
Ole  timer!  Ole  fool!  Dunno!  I  wan'  see  prop 'ty- 
man. "  He  halted,  appalled  to  find  himself  struggling 
with  a  sob.  The  horrible  heat — that  was  what  it  was,  of 
course! — made  him  dizzy  and  his  legs  wavered  under 
him.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  sit  down  un- 
less he  was  asked.  But  there  was  a  chair  near  him  and 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  205 

his  whole  body  yearned  to  it.  "I  won '  leave  cannon ! ' ' 
He  added  with  sad  explosive  love,  "My  cannon!" 

And  then  a  terrible  thing  happened.  Miss  Temple 
turned  on  him,  and  her  face  was  a  tempest  of  reproach, 
"Why,  Grady!"  she  cried — "Why,  Grady,  you  disgust- 
ing boy,  you're  drunk!" 

What  he!  Grady!  Why,  Miss  Temple— She  rolled 
one  glance  at  him  and  he  went  dumb,  all  his  momentary 
triumph,  his  self-respect,  his  bluff,  his  soul  collapsed 
together,  stabbed  through  by  a  white  wench's  black  eye. 
Grady  could  not  play  up  to  a  tragedienne. 

She  put  out  one  hand  and  gave  him  a  disdainful  push ; 
he  toppled  mildly,  then  he  sank  into  that  coveted 
chair,  and  his  head  dropped  forward  on  his  breast. 
Slumber  approached  him,  wooingly.  "Won'  leave  can- 
non ! ' '  said  he,  ' '  Wan '  see  prop  'ty-man ! ' ' 

"Why,  he  can't  stand  up!"  cried  the  lady.  "The 
beast !  Grady !  Grady,  wake  up ! "  He  rose  with  a 
martyr's  obedience  and  stood  wavering  before  her. 
"Look  at  me,  you  miserable  object!  Don't  you  know 
you're  a  disgrace?  How  dare  you  come  here  like  this? 
You  that  have  been  with  me  two  years!  I  am  ashamed 
of  you,  I  am  ashamed  to  have  anybody  see  you,  you're  a 
disgrace  to  me  and  yourself  and  my  company  and  every- 
body! What  am  I  to  do  with  you?  What  am  I  to  do 
with  you?  I  don't  wonder  you  can't  answer!  Mr. 
Lister,  take  him  and  put  him  out  quietly.  I  wouldn't 
have  Alec  see  him  like  this  for  the  world — You  don't 
seem  to  put  him  out !  Oh,  I  forgot  that  you  had  tried 
that!" 

Mr.  Lister  pulled  himself  together,  and  as  the  enemy 


206  MERELY  PLAYERS 

stretched  out  an  arm  Grady  spurred  his  sleepy  spirit. 

' '  Come,  get  out  of  here ! ' ' 

"Aw,  brush  by!"  said  Grady.  "Won'  leave  can- 
non!" 

Miss  Temple  looked  at  them,  the  one  and  the  other. 
' '  Neither  of  you  will  obey  me,  I  see. ' ' 

"Sharlie!  My  dear  girl,"  cried  the  unhappy  man- 
ager. 

Grady  said  to  him,  ' '  Ferry-house  f  'yours,  Reshinald — 
No,  ma  'am.  No,  Miss  Temple.  Won '  leave  cannon ! ' ' 

"Very  well,  then,  you  shall  stay  here  and  see  how  you 
like  that!  What's  that  you  say?  You  want  to  see  the 
property-man?  Well,  you'll  not  see  him  for  some  time 
to  come,  nor  anybody  else.  Nor  is  anybody  going  to  see 
you.  Perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  sit  down  again. 
You  do  not  shine  at  standing.  Larson,"  to  her  maid, 
"unfold  that  screen." 

"Won'  leave  cannon !"  mumbled  Grady,  and  sank  into 
the  chair. 

Miss  Temple,  with  flashing  eyes  and  heaving  breast, 
began  tugging  at  the  screen,  which  was  a  Japanese  em- 
broidery of  gold  and  silver  swallows  on  a  silken  field  of 
pink.  She  helped  Larson  bring  it  forward,  and  as  she 
did,  she  asked  excitedly,  "Now,  sir,  do  you  see  this 
screen  ?  Well,  I  am  going  to  put  it  around  you  because 
you're  not  fit  to  look  at — do  you  hear  what  I  say? — not 
fit  to  look  at.  And  don't  you  try  to  leave  this  chair, 
you  wretch!  You're  to  stay  here  the  whole  perform- 
ance, do  you  understand  that?  I  forbid  you  to  leave! 
I  wouldn  't  have  you  passing  out  again  among  my  men ! 
I'd  be  ashamed  to!  I  wouldn't  have  Alec  see  you  for 
the  world!  You  are  to  stay  here  till  the  last  person  is 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  207 

gone,  it  will  do  you  good,  it  will  teach  you  a  lesson! 
And  don 't  you  put  your  head  round  that  screen,  Grady ! 
— you  can  amuse  yourself  by  looking  at  these  pretty  lit- 
tle birds.  You  can  just  sit  there  and  meditate  upon 
you're  coming  here  in  this  condition — not  able  to  stand, 
and  intimidating  all  my  poor  stage  hands  and  my  man- 
ager and  the  police ! — Oh,  yes,  I  can  perfectly  well  keep 
him  here,  Mr.  Lister,  thank  you ;  I  am  not  afraid  of  him. 
Take  a  hat-pin,  Larson,  and  if  he  tries  to  come  out,  give 
him  a  little  stick.  Certainly.  I  approve  of  everything 
you  do  for  me.  I  am  greatly  obliged.  Only,  perhaps, 
the  next  time  there  is  a  difficulty  in  the  management  of 
my  stage,  you  will  consult  me.  You  see  how  simply  I 
have  settled  it.  You  are  coming  behind  after  the  first 
act  ?  I  shall  be  so  glad — And  as  for  you,  sir,  behind  the 
screen,  I  hope  you  are  ashamed  of  yourself,  ashamed  of 
yourself  for  the  exhibition  you  have  made — if  ever  you 
could  have  seen — "  She  closed  the  door  after  Mr.  Lister 
and  leaning  up  against  it,  her  hands  over  her  heart,  gave 
herself  up  to  noiseless  laughter. 

From  behind  the  gold  and  pink  and  silver  of  Japan, 
"I  wan'  see  prop'ty-man!"  suddenly  demanded  the 
screened  voice  of  Grady. 

Long  afterward,  for  many  years  afterward,  Miss  Tem- 
ple remembered  all  the  little  crowding  details  of  that 
night.  There  were  so  many  of  them  that  they  made  her 
late  for  her  entrance  in  the  third  act ;  in  the  first  place 
the  property-man  couldn't  find  the  soap  to  load  that 
everlasting  cannon,  and  the  stage  manager  couldn't  find 
it  either;  and  then  Norman  Lawrence,  her  leading  man, 
had  come  to  her,  wild-eyed,  under  the  misapprehension 


208  MERELY  PLAYERS 

that  he  was  the  only  person  affected  by  the  night's  de- 
lirious scramble,  and  told  her  that  the  new  props  mustn  't 
wait  for  him  to  give  the  cue  to  fire,  for,  really,  he  was 
so  upset  at  the  risk  that  she  was  running,  that,  really, 
he  could  hardly  depend  upon  himself  to  give  it  at  all; 
and  then  she  had  had  to  be  very  sweet  to  Mr.  Lister,  be- 
cause she  wanted  him  to  keep  an  eye  on  Alec  until  the 
child's  nurse  came  to  take  him  home — he  had  only  come 
to  affiliate  with  the  elephant  and  the  horses,  which  had 
been  taken  away  at  the  end  of  the  second  act.  That  girl 
ought  to  have  come  by  then,  and  it  was  just  as  she  heard 
her  entrance-cue  that  Miss  Temple  saw  Mr.  Lister  again 
and  hung  back  to  whisper  to  him,  "Did  Carrie  take  Alec 
home  ? ' '  Mr.  Lister  had  said  only,  ' '  Oh,  yes,  yes,  some- 
time ago,"  and  yet  she  had  been  an  instant  late;  long 
enough  to  be  thrown  out  of  her  part,  and  to  be  unable 
to  get  into  it  again.  So  she  became  aware  of  the  great, 
richly-dressed  audience,  leaning  toward  her,  poring 
upon  her,  oppressing  her  a  little  with  its  packed  inter- 
est, at  once  single  and  multitudinous,  of  the  crowded 
stage  and  the  organized  movement,  of  the  mechanism  of 
things,  the  realities  that  were  so  unreal  and  created  in 
her  divided  mind  a  sort  of  daze.  She  saw  her  leading 
man,  the  Indian  prince,  simulating  the  struggle  between 
love  and  duty,  come  forward  to  lead  the  English  woman 
to  her  death;  she  remembered  suddenly  that  she  ought 
to  have  waked  Grady  about  the  soap ;  she  thought,  idly, 
as  she  saw  the  property-man  fussing  with  the  cannon, 
' '  Why,  he 's  using  one  of  those  old  paper  wads ! ' '  She 
surrendered  herself  to  Lawrence,  the  Indian  prince,  who 
led  her  forward,  and  as  she  went  she  saw  in  his  eye  the 
same  hysteric  nervousness  with  which  the  poor  over- 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  209 

cautioned  props  puttered  at  his  cannon,  and  as  she  saw 
she  said  to  herself,  "The  creature  is  going  to  make  a 
mistake ! ' '  She  turned  her  back  to  the  cannon 's  mouth, 
two  extras  stepped  forward  with  the  rope,  and  at  that 
instant  the  leading  man  opened  his  distracted  mouth, 
and  out  of  it  shot,  thus  prematurely,  the  property-man's 
cue  to  fire.  The  report  came  so  quick  upon  the  cue,  that 
she  seemed  to  hear  them  in  a  single  flash  of  dismayed 
disgust,  and  with  the  flash,  something  leaped  past  her 
over  her  shoulder,  so  close  that  the  hot  breath  of  it  struck 
her  on  the  cheek,  and  there,  across  the  stage,  before  her 
face,  a  gleaming  ball  dashed  itself  high  against  the  can- 
vas, then  fell,  blazing,  on  a  grass-mat,  and  where  it 
struck  and  where  it  fell  flame  leaped  and  ran  and  spread 
and  grew  like  a  living,  brightening,  laughing  thing,  glad 
to  be  free.  The  old-time  paper  wad  had  played  its  old- 
time  trick,  had  caught  and  burned,  had  hit  upon  the 
frayed  edge  of  a  drop,  and  set  the  scene  afire. 

The  lady  that  Grady  loved  was  a  brave  woman.  She 
went  down  toward  the  footlights — "Ring  down!"  said 
she,  and  when  the  curtain  struck  the  stage  she  stood 
before  it.  She  forsook  all  that  was  dear  to  her,  all  the 
people  she  had  lived  among  and  worked  with,  who  de- 
pended on  her  and  who  were  hers,  for  that  first  of  obliga- 
tions, "the  audience,"  the  crowd  of  strangers  who  were 
in  her  house.  She  was  proud  that  among  her  own  peo- 
ple no  one  had  screamed,  no  one  had  run.  Now  the  cur- 
tain was  down,  they  could  look  out  for  themselves.  But 
these  others  she  faced,  she  dominated,  she  controlled. 
She  saw  the  great  crowd  rising  and  swaying  and  break- 
ing, with  calls  and  shrieks,  and  then  she  saw  it  catching 
14 


210  MERELY  PLAYERS 

itself,  holding  itself  again,  and  then  pouring  out  through 
the  great  doors  which  the  ushers,  pale  boys  with  their 
distended  eyes  on  her,  flung  open  wide.  At  last  she 
faced  an  empty  house.  Then  as  the  lights  in  a  single 
swoop  went  out,  some  people  came  from  behind  the  cur- 
tain, her  own  people;  the  men  called  to  her  as  they 
jumped  into  the  orchestra,  she  jumped  too,  and  they 
caught  her  and  she  ran  up  the  aisle  with  them,  and  out 
of  the  side-door  after  the  audience. 

When  Mr.  Lister  put  her  into  the  carriage  which  was 
to  take  her  to  the  hotel,  she  was  trembling  like  a  little 
girl,  and  clinging  to  his  arm.  "Oh,  thank  God,"  said 
she,  "that  you  had  sent  Alec  home  for  me,  before  it  be- 
gan !  Oh,  thank  God ! "  If  his  blood  froze  with  a  sud- 
den recollection,  he  did  not  betray  it,  his  face  was  turned 
away  from  her,  and  she  did  not  see  it  go  a  greenish- 
white  with  horror,  with  some  sick  apprehension.  For 
a  moment  the  best  that  was  in  him  struggled  to  break 
loose.  But  he  looked  back  at  that  smoking  pit  which 
was  the  theatre,  and  "I'll  offer  the  firemen  anything, 
anything, ' '  he  soothed  himself.  He  answered  Miss  Tem- 
ple hurriedly,  and  the  carriage  drove  away. 

The  mist  which  had  been  bothering  Grady  for  so  long 
began  to  press  down  upon  him  mightily,  like  a  feather 
bed  smothering  him,  like  a  wall  baffling  him;  it  was 
blinding  him  in  the  eyes,  it  was  strangling  him  in  the 
throat,  it  was  binding  him  down,  crushing  him  in,  chok- 
ing out  of  him  that  life,  that  sense  and  spirit,  which 
fought  in  him  so  fiercely,  struggling  to  wake  him.  He 
did  not  know  that  he  was  trying  to  wake  but  he  did  try, 
he  was  not  conscious  of  the  noises,  the  movements,  which 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  211 

had  nevertheless  roused  him  to  beware — the  one  noise  in 
particular,  repeated  over  and  over  and  over,  striking 
upon  his  sense  so  familiarly,  and  yet  so  sharply,  as  a 
man 's  own  name  will  strike  him  to  attention.  The  noise 
was  that  of  a  very  little  voice  calling  ' '  Mamma !  Mamma ! 
Mamma ! "  as  loud  as  it  could  for  terror,  the  voice  of  a 
child.  It  called  Grady  up  through  the  thick  waters  that 
were  drowning  him,  so  that  he  came  gasping  to  the 
surface  in  a  nightmare  of  darkness  and  smoke,  where  he 
knew  nothing,  where  he  was  hopelessly  bewildered  and 
at  bay,  so  that  he  sprang  up,  striking  before  him  with  his 
arms  wide,  and  thus  sent  crashing  the  Japanese  screen, 
beyond  which  he  then  saw  by  the  light  of  a  candle  still 
tranquilly  burning  on  Miss  Temple's  make-up  place, 
the  outlines  of  the  dressing-room,  the  open  door,  the 
stage  beyond — the  stage  beyond!  Fear  swept  over 
Grady  like  a  cold  wave,  sobering  him,  waking  him  at 
last  for  good  and  all,  and  with  the  fear  the  terrible  sense 
of  being  trapped,  deserted,  sacrificed.  He  ran  out  of 
the  room  and  along  close  by  the  wall  to  the  property- 
room;  beside  that  door  he  knew  there  was  a  cooler  of 
ice  water;  under  the  cooler  was  a  bucket  of  drippings, 
two-thirds  full.  Grady  tore  off  his  woolen  sweater,  and 
standing  in  his  shirt  and  trousers  emptied  this  bucket 
over  himself.  He  knocked  the  cover  off  the  cooler,  and 
soused  his  sweater  in  the  ice  water,  then  he  made  the 
sweater  into  a  sort  of  mask  for  his  face  and  head;  it 
covered  one  shoulder,  too,  and  part  of  the  arm  which 
he  held  before  his  eyes,  and  thus  strangely  costumed  he 
made  his  way  along  the  back  wall  toward  the  stage-door. 
Parallel  with  this  wall  hung  the  back  drop,  and  the  drop 
was  afire.  Grady.  slunk  along  close  against  the  bricks, 


212  MERELY  PLAYERS 

making  toward  the  draught  of  the  open  door;  the  fire 
seemed  to  close  in  around  this  door,  to  surround  it  like 
a  thicket,  but  it  would  not  do  to  hesitate,  it  was  getting 
worse  every  minute,  and  the  instant's  pause  he  gave 
himself  was  only  to  gather  up  his  strength,  the  obedience 
of  his  will  and  muscles  for  a  dash  that  meant  his  free- 
dom. For  this  was  a  prison  indeed,  where  they  had  all 
run  away  and  left  him  while  he  was  so  helpless,  where 
she  had  run  away  and  left  him.  As  he  drew  himself 
together  for  his  leap  there  came  through  the  purring 
and  blowing,  the  crackling  and  snapping  of  the  fire, 
something  faint  and  yet  heart-breakingly  shrill,  the  sound 
he  had  heard  in  his  sleep,  the  child's  voice  calling 
''Mamma!  Please  come!  Please!  Mamma!"  calling 
for  help.  Grady  was  struck  still  by  it  like  a  man  who 
hears  his  doom.  For  he  did  not  come  of  the  deliberating 
classes  and  he  did  not  think  twice.  He  only  turned 
and  ran  back  again,  crouching  as  before  from  the  flaming 
drop,  running  with  his  head  down,  onto  the  fire,  into 
the  fire,  following  the  little  voice. 

It  had  seemed,  as  he  remembered  it  in  Miss  Temple's 
room,  to  come  from  some  place  above  his  head,  and  he 
guessed  at  once  that  Alec  was  on  the  little  balcony  over 
the  first  entrance,  where  he  could  have  had  a  good  view  of 
the  stage.  This  balcony  itself  was  iron,  but  the  cor- 
ridor which  led  to  it,  and  the  old-fashioned  stairs  were 
wood,  and  the  stairs  had  caught  from  a  falling  border. 
Grady  could  not  see  the  little  boy :  he  called  to  him  and 
got  no  answer.  He  cast  a  measuring  eye  upon  the  stairs ; 
these  he  could  still  see  plainly  by  spurts  of  the  fierce 
light;  in  fact  they  were  marked  by  a  flameless  column 
of  smoke  which  poured  from  them.  He  took  what  breath 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  213 

he  dared,  drew  the  wet  sweater  closer  round  his  face, 
and  climbed,  with  a  blind  hurry,  into  the  smoke.  He 
had  gone  only  a  step  or  two  when  he  choked,  but  he 
kept  on  and  suddenly  stumbling  over  something,  pitched 
forward,  and,  clutching  the  heated  banister,  saved  him- 
self on  his  knees  and  one  hand.  This  hand  had  hold  of 
something,  a  soft  thing  like  an  arm !  What,  this  easy ! 
He  could  see  nothing  in  that  reeking  darkness,  but  he 
ran  his  fingers  over  the  little  shoulders  and  into  the  close 
crop  of  curls — yes,  Alec!  He  sprang  up,  grasped  the 
sweater  he  had  almost  lost,  muffled  the  boy  in  it,  hiding 
him  in  his  breast,  and  began  stumbling,  springing  some- 
how, down  again.  This  time  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
high  waves  of  fire  closed  eagerly  around  him. 

When  he  came  through  on  the  other  side,  he  was  for 
the  time  a  different  man ;  he  had  fought  so  hard  that  he 
was  not  brave  any  longer;  he  was  only  fearless.  He 
could  see  plainly  that  the  fire  was  spending  itself  on 
the  back  of  the  theatre,  the  drop  had  fallen  and  lighted 
the  flooring,  exit  that  way  was  hopeless,  and  even  toward 
that  side  where  he  stood,  the  flames  had  licked  up  a  few 
pieces  of  scenery  and  thrown  out  a  crazy  arm  to  reach 
the  flies.  Over  on  the  prompt-side  the  main  wall, 
though  it  was  luridly  lighted  half  way  lip  by  a  red 
reflection,  rose  clear  and  bare  and  quite  untouched,  but 
the  stage  itself  was  a  downright  furnace;  the  curtain 
puffed  a  little,  caught  and  blazed  and  yet  a  little  while 
it  hung  there,  flaming,  while  the  black  pit  of  the  house 
stared  stolidly  at  this  strange  sight.  Grady  rushed  along 
to  the  first  entrance;  as  he  gained  the  passage  by  the 
boxes  the  fire  suddenly  moved  with  him,  its  eager  gobble 
of  the  scenery  crowding  toward  the  orchestra  and  swayed 


214  MERELY  PLAYERS 

forward  by  the  draught.  He  flung  himself  against  the 
box  door  leading  to  the  front;  it  was  locked.  He  drew 
off  and  kicked"*the  lock  with  a  steady  passion,  but  it  held. 
He  flung  himself  against  it,  for  though  he  did  not  know 
that  the  exits  had  been  opened,  he  meant  to  try  for 
them — the  fire  leaped  the  orchestra  and  ran  wildly  up 
the  aisles,  catching  up  whole  rows  of  seats  in  hot  em- 
braces. Grady's  heart  was  gripped  for  the  first  time 
by  despair.  He  dropped  to  his  knees  with  the  child 
crushed  in  his  arms;  there  was  an  instant  when  he 
crouched  in  simple  frenzy,  then  he  was  trying  to  see 
beyond  the  little  island  where  he  knelt.  As  before  it 
was  only  across  on  the  prompt-side  that  there  was  still 
something  clear.  There  the  solid  wall  still  rose,  plainly 
visible  above  the  smoke,  and  suddenly  a  sharp  picture 
of  that  wall  flashed  on  him  with  a  window  in  it.  A 
window  looking  into  the  fly-gallery  and  out  upon  the 
thoroughfare !  As  soon  as  he  remembered,  he  was  ready. 
There  was  a  climb  before  him  where  he  would  need  both 
his  hands;  he  swung  the  boy  to  his  back,  binding  him 
there  with  the  sweater,  the  sleeves  of  which  he  brought 
forward  under  his  own  arms,  and  tied  upon  his  breast, 
the  wet  wool  making  a  knot  like  a  rivet.  He  felt  the 
backward  pull  of  the  boy's  weight  and  lapped  Alec's 
sturdy  legs  across  his  left  arm,  as  a  woman  might  carry 
her  train ;  then,  stooping  down  and  forward,  he  ran  into 
the  roaring  fury  of  the  stage. 

After  a  hundred  years  of  minutes  he  brought  up 
against  the  opposite  wall,  and  without  pause  or  thank- 
fulness groped  upon  it  for  his  salvation.  Ah !  his  fingers 
closed  on  the  thin  iron  rounds,  his  feet  took  hold  on 
them,  he  had  started  up  them!  This  narrow  ladder, 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  215 

upright  as  a  mast,  set  so  flat,  so  close  to  the  wall,  as 
to  be  almost  in  it,  hardly  affords  hold  or  standing  room 
at  any  time,  and  now  he  could  not  see  the  slight  rounds 
of  metal  in  the  smoke.  Nevertheless,  for  the  first  dozen 
feet  he  almost  ran.  He  then  turned  back  to  the  fire  with 
a  snarl  of  triumph,  and  yet  there  it  was ! — it  had  moved 
as  fast  as  he,  and  its  advance-guard  of  smothering  black- 
ness was  at  his  feet.  He  was  spurred  by  a  mere  hatred 
of  the  thing,  and  scrambled  up  and  up  with  the  child's 
heavy  body  still  hanging  from  his  shoulders  to  his  hips, 
weakening  his  arms  in  their  hold  upon  the  ladder,  pull- 
ing, pulling,  just  as  if  it  meant  to  do  it,  back  and  down 
to  the  Inferno.  He  gained  on  the  smoke  and  his  brain 
cleared  again ;  he  was  nearly  half  way  up.  He  lowered 
his  face  into  the  knot  of  wool  on  his  breast;  dear  God, 
it  was  damp  yet!  He  breathed  in  its  sponginess  and 
for  one  gorgeous  minute  sucked  its  moisture.  As  he  did 
so  the  first  flames  burst  through  the  curtain  of  smoke 
and  came  licking  round  the  ladder's  lower  rungs.  The 
iron  and  the  brick  wall  did  not  give  them  much  food, 
but  they  had  run  up  the  wings  like  mad,  and  the  smoke 
from  these  was  already  closing  round  him  on  a  level; 
he  struggled  through  another  four  or  five  feet,  swaying 
with  an  aching  faintness  he  looked  up  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  dim  window,  far  away-like  heaven,  and  as  he  looked 
a  flame  shot  from  a  wing  to  the  first  border  still  high 
beyond  him,  danced  along  that  and  lighted  on  the  wooden 
hand  rail  of  the  fly-gallery  that  he  was  making  for. 
Something  staggered  in  his  head.  He  no  longer  saw  well, 
even  allowing — Well,  no  use  falling  back,  no  use  falling 
back,  better  keep  on,  better  keep  on,  yes,  better — His 
head  kept  saying  something  over  and  over  inside  itself— 


216  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Oh  God!  God!  God!—"  praying,  maybe.  He  couldn't 
bear  to  lift  his  arms  again,  and  then  his  feet,  he  couldn  't 
do  it!  He  did  not  know  if  he  was  burned,  but  he  be- 
gan to  be  dimly  aware  that  he  was  suffering  some  spe- 
cial pain ;  he  did  not  know  what,  nor  where,  but  he  re- 
sented it  because  it  might  delay  him.  Then  the  smoke 
from  above,  below,  all  sides,  rushed  in  and  covered  him, 
and  he  swung,  choking. 

All  this  time  he  had  had  no  idea  whatever  of  any  help 
from  the  outside.  That  this  wall  alone  separated  the 
child  and  him  from  a  shouting,  struggling  crowd,  fren- 
zied over  their  fate;  that  it  separated  them,  moreover, 
from  a  few  devoted  men  toiling  for  them  like  giants,  like 
heroes,  never  occurred  to  him  at  all.  From  the  time  he 
had  first  started  into  the  fire  he  had  been  as  much  alone 
as  if  there  were  no  other  creatures  in  the  world,  he 
had  thought  as  little  about  human  sympathy  as  an  ant 
struggling  up  a  mountain  with  a  fly  upon  its  back.  He 
knew,  dimly  and  yet  with  agony,  that  he  was  working 
toward  an  end — a  place  where  there  was  air  and  time 
to  lie  down.  The  lost  world  of  men  presented  to  him 
absolutely  no  other  features. 

He  came  to  in  a  spasm  of  gasping  from  the  weight  of 
his  own  head  falling  backward.  Terrified,  he  climbed 
on,  panting.  But  it  was  only  a  matter  of  moments  now 
when  he  must  lose  consciousness  for  good  and  all.  He 
began  to  be  crazed  with  hatred  of  this  thing  upon  his 
back,  that  kept  pulling  at  him  and  would  not  help  itself. 
He  was  sick  with  the  desire  to  strike  it,  to  tear  it  off; 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  save  Alec  with 
that  thing  still  hanging  on !  For  all  he  knew  the  face  so 
close  to  his  might  be  grinning  at  him!  He  turned  his 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  217 

head  to  look,  and  seemed  to  see  a  flame  reaching  to- 
ward Alec's  boots.  He  clutched  them  upward  with  a 
desperate  tenderness,  made  a  last  stagger  and  swung, 
reeling,  at  the  ladder's  top. 

His  mind  was  suddenly  as  clear  as  when  he  started. 
The  ladder  ran  a  few  feet  higher  than  the  little  gallery, 
he  had  only  to  drop  from  its  rungs  to  the  boards  which 
were  not  yet  blazing.  In  doing  so  he  struck  dangerously 
near  to  that  wide  cutting  in  the  planks  through  which 
the  ladder  rose,  lost  his  balance,  toppled  back  toward  the 
cutting,  by  a  fearful  effort  swung  himself  once  more  for- 
ward and  lunging  his  full  length  dashed  himself  against 
the  blessed  window,  and  flung  it  open,  the  free  air  blow- 
ing on  his  face.  He  draggd  Alec  out  of  the  sweater,  and 
set  him  before  him  on  the  window-sill.  Climbing  after 
him  he  held  the  child  in  with  one  leg  while  he  himself 
stood  upright  on  the  sill,  the  better  to  be  seen.  For  in 
that  moment  the  sense  of  his  kind,  of  common  humanity 
came  back  to  him ;  he  knew  why  he  had  been  struggling 
to  that  window  and  what  he  had  expected;  he  was  con- 
tented, not  surprised,  when  there  swept  up  to  him  such 
a  welcome  as  even  that  venerable  theatre  had  never  heard 
before,  the  heart  of  the  crowd  crying  out  in  the  voice 
of  the  crowd,  "Wait !  Don't  jump !  "Wait,  wait,  they're 
coming  to  you!" 

A  carriage  had  driven  back  full  speed  to  the  corner 
of  that  street,  but  it  could  get  no  further,  so  the  door 
of  it  flew  open  and  some  one  jumped  out  and  made  her 
way  like  a  crazy  woman  through  the  crush.  Blind  and 
rough  and  senseless  as  she  was,  those  who  recognized  her 
made  way  for  her,  but  when  she  began  to  struggle  with 
the  policeman  at  the  fire-line,  the  officers  told  her  to  look 


218  MERELY  PLAYERS 

up,  and  men  and  women  called  out  to  her,  "It's  all 
right!  See!  Look!  It's  all  right — he's  got  him!" 
She  raised  her  frantic  eyes  and  saw,  she  sank  to  her 
knees  on  the  pavement  and  staring  upward,  quieted,  for 
the  first  time  began  to  weep.  Grady  had  seen  her  as  she 
came,  and  as  she  looked  up  he  looked  down.  He  slid 
softly  to  a  sitting  posture  in  the  window  and  took  Alec 
into  his  lap.  ' '  Hold  on,  old  man, ' '  said  he,  somewhat  ir- 
relevantly, to  the  child. 

Grady  and  the  fireman  who  got  to  the  window  first 
were  rather  snubby  to  another  fireman,  who  met  them 
half  way  down  and  insisted  upon  helping  them.  When 
his  feet  touched  the  earth  Grady  began  to  feel  foolish. 
There  was  a  puddle  over  there  by  an  engine  and  he 
wanted  to  lie  down  in  it  and  go  to  sleep.  He  knew  that 
he  was  in  a  good  deal  of  pain  somehow  or  other,  also 
he  seemed  to  be  standing  in  a  wide  dark  circle;  then 
suddenly  some  one  ran  into  this  circle  and  came  up  to 
him.  It  was  Miss  Temple ;  they  stood  there  face  to  face, 
her  eyes  all  shiny  and  full  of  tears.  He  could  see 
that  she  was  trying  to  speak  and  could  not.  She 
had  Alec  in  one  arm.  Suddenly  she  reached  up 
and  lifted  her  face  and  threw  her  free  arm  round 
Grady 's  neck  and  kissed  him.  For  just  one  instant 
Grady  came  fully  wide  awake,  and  was  aware  to 
the  very  bone  of  everything;  the  fire  and  the  night, 
the  sea  of  faces,  the  danger  he  had  been  through, 
tempering  his  heart  and  the  kiss  of  the  young  woman 
holding  her  child.  Then  it  was  all  gone  again,  things 
became  ordinary  and  then  confused.  "It's  all  right, 
Miss  Temple,"  he  told  her,  "why  I  had  to  bring  him 
of  course,  of  course,  I  had  to."  "Ah,  yes,  you  Grady," 


NOBILITY  OBLIGES  219 

he  heard  Her  say,  "of  course,  you  had  to."  And  then 
the  black  circle  tilted  again  and  swayed,  swung  up  and 
closed  over  his  eyes.  At  the  end  of  the  night  and  the 
end  of  the  world,  Grady  had  fainted. 

All  things  considered  it  was  not  remarkable  that  that 
threat  of  Mr.  Lister's  never  got  carried  out:  when  the 
union  would  let  him,  and  when  he  had  got  slowly,  slowly 
well,  Grady  came  back  to  Miss  Temple's  company  and 
worked  his  cannon  as  of  yore,  and  Alec  rode  with  him 
again,  and  went  to  ball  games  with  him,  and  picked  up 
Grady 's  unseemly  notions  about  obligations,  just  as  he 
had  done  before. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  in  the  life  of  Charlotte 
Temple  there  was  no  marriage  with  Mr.  Lister.  Justly 
or  unjustly,  she  had  conceived  a  spite  against  that  gentle- 
man ;  she  said  she  was  afraid  she  was  fussy,  but  she  had 
a  prejudice  in  favor  of  a  husband  who  could  look  her 
property-boy  in  the  face.  When  she  became  engaged 
to  a  grand  young  man  who  came  out  of  Africa  covered 
with  medals,  a  sensational  paper  raked  up  the  story  of 
the  fire,  and  included,  among  other  pleasantries,  the  in- 
cident of  the  kiss.  A  confidential  friend  of  Miss  Tem- 
ple's  suburban  school-days,  who  had  become  the  head 
of  a  sort  of  Temple-aesthetics  cult  in  the  neighborhood, 
wrote  to  inquire  if  this  statement  were  correct,  and  on 
being  promptly  informed  in  the  affirmative,  wrote  again. 
Miss  Temple  read  this  second  letter  late  one  night  sitting 
alone  in  her  bedroom  before  a  grate  of  glowing  coals. 
The  letter  was  warmly  commendatory  and  sentimental, 
not  to  say  gushing;  it  declared  that  nothing  could  have 
been  nobler,  nor  more  truly,  poetically  refined,  than  for 


220  MERELY  PLAYERS 

a  famous  actress,  before  a  street  full  of  people,  to  be 
carried  away  by  gratitude,  and  kiss  one  of  her  mechanics. 
"Noblesse  oblige!"  ran  this  effusion.  ''Such  a  thing 
must  have  been  shockingly  against  all  your  instincts  and 
delicacies,  and  we  think  it  all  the  finer  because  it  must 
have  been  so  intensely  disagreeable  to  you — of  course, 
dear  girl,  we  all  know  that."  Miss  Temple  paused  and 
looked  into  the  firelight ;  fully,  clearly,  she  saw  that  mo- 
ment— the  dark,  enormous,  gusty,  rowdy  night  and  the 
flaming  theatre  which  lighted  it,  the  snorting  engines, 
the  huddled  cars,  the  crowds,  all  commanded  by  the 
omnipotent  firemen,  among  whom  Grady  alone  moved  as 
an  equal;  and  she  saw  the  bold  young  figure  breathing 
life  and  death,  bearing  her  the  world  in  his  arms,  and 
then  with  his  cross  and  curly  head  bowed  down  to  hers. 
She  sat  very  still ;  the  light  of  her  hearth  dreamed  over 
her  white  laces,  her  white  hands,  her  glimmering  rings, 
her  little  silk-shod  feet,  and  a  small,  a  mischievous  and 
pensive  smile  came  creeping  and  dimpling  into  her  face ; 
"It  must  have  been  so  intensely  disagreeable  to  you — 
of  course,  dear  girl,  we  all  know  that. ' ' 
"The  devil  they  do!"  said  the  lady  softly. 


ABOVE  RUBIES 


ABOVE  RUBIES 


SUSIE  had  pulled  a  chair  in  front  of  the  bureau,  and 
she  revolved  upon  it  as  steadily  as  possible,  look- 
ing into  the  mirror  at  the  hang  of  her  skirt.  Susie  was 
a  most  delicate  and  spirited  little  person,  and  looked 
only  about  twenty,  though  she  was  twenty-six.  Her  hus- 
band lolled  on  the  hard  and  bulging  sofa  and  fanned 
himself,  for  the  day  was  hot.  Climax,  the  fox  terrier, 
was  getting  too  fat,  and  he  also  felt  the  heat ;  he  panted 
patiently  on  the  floor  in  the  midst  of  a  crumbling  desert 
of  dog-biscuit.  The  baby,  in  her  night-gown  for  cool- 
ness' sake,  tottered  amiably  but  unsteadily  near  the 
dog ;  every  now  and  then  her  father  would  lean  out  from 
the  sofa,  and  with  a  swoop  of  his  fan  between  her  fingers 
and  her  opening  mouth,  would  intercept  a  piece  of  dog- 
biscuit  and  wave  it  to  a  distance.  Susie,  expertly  re- 
volving in  her  fresh  white  dress  and  deciding  in  a  capable 
glance  that  it  hung  perfectly,  had  something  like  a  flash 
of  realization  that  an  ingenue,  however  prosperous,  is 
a  little  excessive  in  allowing  herself  so  many  encum- 
brances. She  jumped  down  and  took  up  her  hat.  Susie 
was  going  to  make  the  round  of  the  theatrical  agencies, 
as  she  did  three  days  a  week;  she  was  looking,  with  a 
growing  desperation,  for  an  engagement. 

Four  years  ago,  before  Miss  Suzanne  Grayce  had  mar- 
ried Mr.  Walter  Bates,  she  had  been  one  of  the  most 

223 


224  MERELY  PLAYERS 

promising  ingenues  in  the  profession.  No  one  had  been 
quite  as  promising  since,  except  perhaps  this  new  girl, 
Mabel  Rose,  who  seemed  not  only  to  have  taken  Susie's 
place  but  to  walk  directly  ahead  of  her,  closing  the 
gate  of  every  opportunity.  Well,  she  herself  had  once 
walked  into  the  stronghold  of  success,  and  she  had  done 
it  so  smoothly,  so  easily,  that  success  had  seemed  the 
only  thing  natural  to  her;  she  had  lived  in  a  kind  of 
pleasant,  progressive  game  in  which  she  had  always  gone 
higher  with  each  move,  and  in  which  she  was  to  go 
much  higher  still.  Then,  in  a  mood  of  thinking  that  she 
was  living  rather  extravagantly  "for  a  young  girl,"  she 
had  allowed  herself  to  be  advised  out  of  her  pretty  hotel 
into  a  blowzy  boarding-house,  and  there  she  had  met 
Walter  Bates  and  had  fallen  in  love  with  him  and  mar- 
ried him.  He  was  out  of  an  engagement  and  in  debt,  but 
he,  was  very  gentle  and  good-looking  and  he  had  excel- 
lent intentions;  his  intentions  were  still  excellent,  and 
he  had  kept  his  good  looks  and  his  gentleness.  Susie 
was  now  also  in  debt  and  out  of  an  engagement. 

This  state  of  affairs  was  not  due  to  any  spiritual  de- 
ficiency in  Mr.  Bates.  He  tried  very  hard ;  he  had  some 
small  talent  for  playing  parts,  but  none  whatever  for 
getting  them.  Whenever  he  was  out  of  work  he  re- 
alized this  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  apt  to  become 
quite  pale  about  it.  Unfortunately,  for  any  claim  upon 
sympathy,  he  was  apt  at  the  same  time  to  become  a  little 
puffy.  If  he  did  not  get  fat,  he  at  least  spread,  unap- 
pealingly.  So  that,  in  a  time  of  such  poignant  useless- 
ness  as  the  present,  he  continued  to  lounge  upon  the 
sofa  and  to  grow  paler  and  puffier  from  moment  to  mo- 


ABOVE  RUBIES  225 

ment.  An  unquenchable  amusement  at  the  eccentricities 
of  life  lurked,  aimlessly,  in  his  expression. 

' '  Wallie, ' '  said  his  wife,  suddenly  observing  him  as  she 
drew  on  her  gloves,  "I  do  wish  I  could  afford  you  some 
fencing  lessons.  You  need  something,  I  'm  sure. ' ' 

' '  While  you  are  wishing,  Susie, ' '  said  Mr.  Bates, ' '  wish 
that  I  could  afford  some  for  myself." 

His  wife  looked  at  him  with  a  fond  frown.  "Don't 
worry, ' '  said  she  brightly.  ' '  If  only  one  of  us  can  make 
some  money  it  doesn't  matter  which  one  it  is." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Bates.  "Angh-angh,  Geral- 
dine — drop  it !  It  would  be  a  good  deal  of  a  luxury  to 
me  personally,  to  support  my  family  myself,  and  who  am 
I  to  afford  luxuries?  I  don't  know  if  you  want  her  to 
swallow  that  button,  dear,  but  she's  doing  it." 

Geraldine  was  deprived  of  her  button  and  placed 
upon  the  bed.  Her  mother  poked  at  her,  and  rolled  her 
over  and  over  until  she  screamed  with  joy,  and  then 
suddenly  deserted  her  and  went  over  and  stood  beside 
the  sofa.  She  had  taken  up  her  parasol  and  stood  strok- 
ing the  sofa  with  the  point ;  she  was  growing  rather  pale 
herself. 

Finally  she  said:  "Wallie,  do  you  feel  quite  com- 
fortable about  going  down  to  dinner  here  ? ' '  He  did  not 
answer,  and  she  quivered  out  with :  ' '  We  shall  have  to 
pay  Mrs.  Lexis.  She 's  been  very  patient  and  she  '11  have 
to  have  it."  She  stopped  again,  and  then:  "Walter, 
if  I  don't  get  an  engagement  pretty  soon,  what  will  be- 
come of  us?"  He  had  not  and  could  not  have  any- 
thing to  say,  but  he  stooped  for  the  handkerchief  she 
had  dropped,  and  she  took  it  from  him  with  a  little 
15 


226  MERELY  PLAYERS 

shiver.  "Do  you  think,"  she  cried,  and  her  voice  tore 
on  the  words  into  a  furtive  sob,  "do  you  think  I  shall 
have  to  sell  my  ruby  bracelet  ? ' ' 

"You  may  even  get  the  engagement  to-day,"  said  he, 
and  smiled  upon  her. 

She  remembered  that  perhaps  she  might,  and  remem- 
bering also  the  charming  little  figure,  impeccably  ar- 
rayed, which  had  revolved  before  her  in  the  glass,  she 
took  heart,  brightening  at  him  and  giving  his  sleeve  a 
small  twist  of  confidence  as  she  moved  away.  He  got 
up  and  opened  the  door  for  her  and,  "Of  course,"  said 
she,  with  a  punctilious  loyalty,  "if  I  don't  get  anything 
to-day,  you  may  get  something  to-morrow. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  amused  surprise,  and 
then  with  a  sudden  gravity  took  her  face  a  little  form- 
ally and  distantly  between  his  finger  tips  and,  stooping, 
kissed  her. 

"I'll  take  care  of  the  baby!"  he  called  jauntily  after 
her. 

II 

Susie's  spurt  of  elation  carried  her  down  Broadway 
and  up  the  stairs  that  lead  to  Mrs.  Meade's  agency. 
There  it  deserted  her,  immediately  and  altogether. 

It  was  Monday  morning,  so  the  agency  was  very  full 
and  the  crowded  room  was  hot,  with  the  sticky,  humid 
heat  of  the  late  summer.  Beyond  the  low  wire  fence 
which  protected  the  authorities  from  invasion  there  was 
a  little  breathing  space;  the  bold  and  hardy  pushed  up 
to  the  fence,  made  themselves  heard  over  the  click  of 
the  typewriters  beyond  and  were  answered  by  shakes  of 
the  head  from  haughty  employees  within.  The  agent 


ABOVE  RUBIES  227 

herself,  Mrs.  Meade,  was  immured  with  a  manager  in 
her  private  office.  Susie  saw  that  the  women  were 
greatly  in  the  majority,  and  her  sense  of  individuality 
failed  her  just  when  she  most  required  it;  she  seemed 
to  sink  indistinguishably  into  a  sea  of  needy  ingenues. 
She  stood  back  against  the  wall,  fanning  herself  with 
her  handkerchief  and  rather  aggressively  getting  her 
breath  after  running  upstairs.  Susie  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  pitying  girls  thus  trying  to  appear  at  ease,  as 
she  had  once  pitied  their  elaborate  toilettes — elaborated 
in  order  to  hide  the  indications  of  pretense  and  make- 
shift which  had  always  frayed  Susie's  nerves.  "Oh," 
she  remembered  once  having  said  to  Walter,  "oh,  an 
anxious-looking  dress!  I  never  could  endure  that!" 
Those  were  the  days  when  she  had  plenty  of  offers,  but 
refused  all  which  did  not  include  him.  She  wondered, 
now,  what  sort  of  dress,  what  sort  of  anxieties,  she 
might  presently  be  obliged  to  endure.  There  is  nothing 
like  standing  about  agencies  to  wilt  the  starch  out  of 
superiority. 

Mrs.  Meade  herself,  when  she  finally  came  forth,  was 
not  nearly  so  haughty  as  her  employees.  She  said, 
"Good  morning,"  and,  "No,  nothing,  not  a  thing,  my 
dear,"  to  each  person  in  turn,  and  when  one  loquacious 
girl  said  that  the  weather  was  so  hot  it  took  all  the  curl 
out  of  one's  hair,  she  said:  "Oh,  don't  curl  it,  dearie! 
Try  the  water-wave!"  She  shook  hands  with  Susie, 
whom  she  remembered  having  told  to  come  in  to-day, 
and  said  at  once :  ' '  Oh,  they  've  filled  that  part,  my 
dear;  yes,  they've  engaged  Grace  Weston."  There  was 
nothing  for  Susie  but  to  look  as  if  she  didn't  care  and 
to  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible.  At  the  next  agency 


228  MERELY  PLAYERS 

it  was  the  same  story,  and  at  the  next  and  the  next. 
Susie  knew  people  in  every  office,  and  she  was  aware  that 
her  smile  of  greeting  was  becoming  forced.  She  hated 
herself  for  it,  and  yet  she  knew  she  was  losing  her  nerve ; 
persistence  seemed  so  useless  and  the  world  so  impene- 
trable a  wall.  Some  of  the  stairways  leading  to  the 
offices  bore  upon  each  step  a  sign  which  said,  "No 
loiterers,  tramps,  or  peddlers  allowed  in  this  building," 
and  Susie  began  to  creep  past  these  signs  with  a  certain 
sense  of  guilt.  At  the  most  successful  of  the  agencies 
she  glanced  through  the  door  and  beheld  many  thriving- 
looking  Thespians,  elect  ladies  in  rocking-chairs,  fanning 
themselves  and  discussing  new  plays.  Susie  did  not  see 
how  she  could  face  the  cold  eye  of  an  aristocracy  to 
which  she  had  once  belonged;  she  faltered  on  the 
threshold,  then:  "No,  I  can't  go  in  there!"  she  ad- 
mitted to  her  sinking  heart,  and,  turning,  fled. 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  she  was  hailed  by  a  girl 
she  knew,  a  Miss  Marsh,  Victoria  Marsh,  who  got  pretty 
good  engagements  now  through  being  such  a  friend  of 
those  prosperous  Farnums,  and  they  loitered  together 
for  a  moment  in  front  of  a  shop  devoted  to  confec- 
tionery and  ice-cream.  Miss  Marsh  said  that  she  was 
waiting  for  Eddie  Clark;  he  had  gone  in  somewhere  to 
get  some  cigarettes.  She  managed  to  convey  a  certain 
proprietorship  of  Eddie  by  the  tone  in  which  she  men- 
tioned him,  which  was  re-enforced  by  his  having  left  her 
to  straggle  alone  in  the  street,  and  she  presently  began 
telling  Susie  how  near  he  had  come  to  getting  that  splen- 
did part  in  Granger's  Number  Two  Company  of 
"Alaska,"  only  Norman  Lawrence  had  gone  up  the  day 
before  Eddie  was  to  sign  and  offered  to  go  for  half 


ABOVE  RUBIES  229 

Eddie's  salary,  and  Granger  had  taken  him.  Susie  felt 
that  beating  of  the  blood  about  her  temples  which  she 
always  suffered  under  contact  with  something  treacher- 
ous. "Lawrence  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  the  profes- 
sion," she  declared,  with  more  violence  than  becomes  an 
ingenue.  She  had  always  rather  disliked  Eddie,  but 
now  she  felt  quite  fond  of  him.  "That  sort  of  thing," 
— she  said  and  shut  her  teeth. 

"It's  awful,"  said  Miss  Marsh,  "and  people  are  get- 
ting more  like  that  every  day ;  Helen  Graham 's  own  sis- 
ter worked  her  out  of  a  part  last  week  by  telling  the  man- 
ager Helen  was  subject  to  laryngitis.  The  way  people 
in  this  business  are  beginning  to  scheme  and  go  on,  you'd 
think  they  were  all  managers.  What  do  you  go  with 
yourself,  Susie?" 

"I  haven't  signed,"  said  Susie. 

"Well,  come  in  here  and  have  some  soda,"  cried  Miss 
Marsh,  cheeringly. 

"Oh,  thanks,  I  guess  I—" 

At  this  moment  there  flashed  out  of  the  confectioner's 
a  young  girl  in  pink  organdy  with  roses  in  her  hands. 
She  was  followed  by  two  nice-looking  boys,  one  carrying 
her  parasol  and  the  other  some  vague  thing  of  pinky  flut- 
ters. Sailing  past,  radiant,  the  girl  smiled  to  Susie  and 
waved  her  hand. 

Miss  Marsh  exclaimed:  "Wasn't  that  Mabel 
Rose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Susie;  "isn't  she  pretty?" 

' '  They  say  that  in  this  new  piece  of  Jervis  's  she 's  got 
the  greatest  part  ever  was  written.  Nice  for  Kate  Er- 
skine  when  she's  to  star  in  it." 

"Jervis  writes  good  parts,"  said  Susie  softly. 


230  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"And  good  parts  make  good  actresses,"  Miss  Marsh 
announced.  "Well,  Eddie." 

Eddie  said:  "Well,  girls,"  and  that  he  had  just  seen 
old  Emmons,  who  had  told  him  if  he  came  round  at  three 
to-morrow  there  might  be  something  doing.  On  the 
strength  of  this  statement  Eddie  wanted  to  know  if  Vic- 
toria, if  the  girls,  would  come  somewhere  and  have  a 
drink,  but  Miss  Marsh  plucked  him  sharply  up  to  the 
ice-cream  standard  and  they  went  into  the  confectioner's. 

As  they  sat  at  their  ease  nibbling  the  lady  fingers  with 
which  Eddie  had  delicately  provided  them,  Miss  Marsh 
said  to  Susie:  "It's  you  ought  to  be  playing  this  part 
Mabel  Rose  has  got." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  particular,"  Susie  laughed.  "Most 
any  part  would  do  for  me." 

"Well,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel,  you'll  never  get 
anything,"  Miss  Marsh  austerely  commented.  "I  don't 
believe  you've  got  any  push,  Susie.  You  ought  to  go  to 
see  everybody  and  you  ought  to  put  on  a  good  front." 
She  looked  a  little  deprecatingly  at  Susie's  mild  white 
dress.  "How  about  your — have  you  still  got — oh,  there 
it  is !  What  do  you  hide  it  for  ? ' '  She  pointed  sternly, 
and  Susie  shook  her  ruby  bracelet  free  of  her  sleeve. 

"Well,  I  thought— in  the  daytime." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Marsh,  whose  naturally  con- 
cerned and  conscientious  spirit  seemed  especially  on  edge 
that  day.  "You  want  to  wear  it  flash  out  so  as  to  show 
people  that  you've  got  it  yet.  People  never  want  to  give 
engagements  to  people  unless  they  look  as  if  they  didn't 
want  them.  Have  you  been,  around  to  the  agencies  this 
morning  ? ' ' 


ABOVE  RUBIES  231 

"Yes,  to  Mrs.  Meade's,  and  to  Spaulding's,  and  to 
Paul's,  and—" 

"To  Miss  Reagle's?" 

"No,"  hesitated  Susie.  "I — I  just  couldn't  go  in 
there,  so  many  people — 

"Well,  she  has  the  best  of  everything.  You  ought  to 
go  there.  Things  won't  come  to  you,  you  know.  You 
ought  to  go  there  and  stay  there.  It 's  just  cowardice  not 
to,  Susie." 

"Have  some  more  cream,  Miss  Grayce,"  said  Eddie 
Clark. 

' '  I  want  Susie  to  promise  me  she  '11  go  to  Miss  Reagle  's 
right  away,"  insisted  the  strenuous  Miss  Marsh.  "She 
can  break  the  ice  by  asking  if  there's  any  mail  for  her. 
She  ought  to  go  there;  you  can  never  tell  what  might 
happen." 

Susie  felt  that  her  friend  was  right,  and  she  decided  to 
make  use  of  this  first  aid  to  the  self-conscious ;  she  would 
at  least  pretend  to  look  for  mail  at  Miss  Reagle 's.  Forti- 
fied by  Mr.  Clark 's  hospitality,  she  walked,  as  soon  as  she 
was  alone,  directly  back  to  Miss  Reagle's,  and  once  ar- 
rived upon  the  threshold  she  took  a  deep  breath,  thrust 
forth  her  ruby  bracelet,  and  entered  the  office. 

The  mail-box  was  behind  the  railing,  and  Susie  pointed 
to  it  and  said  to  a  proud  minion :  * '  May  I  see  if  there 's 
anything  for  me?"  The  minion  stared  blankly,  but 
handed  her  the  letters,  and  Susie  ran  them  over.  The 
door  of  the  inner  office  was  open ;  Susie  could  hear  Miss 
Reagle 's  voice ;  and  for  a  moment  her  eyes  met  those  of 
the  manager  to  whom  Miss  Reagle  was  talking.  He  was 
a  Mr.  Hendricks,  for  whom  Susie  had  once  played. 


232  MERELY  PLAYERS 

She  made  him  a  little  bow,  returned  the  mail,  and 
walked  out.  "When  she  was  half-way  downstairs  she 
heard  someone  call  her  name,  and  turning  she  observed 
the  proud  minion  hanging  over  the  banister  and  entreat- 
ing her :  "Miss  Grayce !  Miss  Grayce !  "Will  you  come 
back  a  minute,  please  ? ' ' 

Susie,  puzzled,  but  pliable,  returned.  A  kind  young 
lady  at  the  typewriter  said:  "Just  step  into  the  office, 
please."  At  this  moment  the  manager  came  out  of  the 
office.  ' '  How  are  you,  Miss  Grayce  ? "  he  said.  ' '  Where 
have  you  hidden  yourself  all  this  while?"  He  went  on 
without  waiting  for  an  answer ;  Susie,  for  the  first  time 
in  many  a  weary  day,  stepped  into  the  inner  office  and 
Miss  Reagle  motioned  her  to  a  chair. 

"My  dear,"  said  Miss  Reagle,  "it's  a  good  thing  you 
came  in !  I  was  just  going  to  send  for  you.  Hendricks 
was  in  here  looking  for  an  ingenue,  and  I  mentioned  your 
name."  Susie  remembered  the  surprised  recognition 
growing  into  attention  in  Hendriek's  glance  and  she 
demurely  cast  down  her  eyes.  "They  want  somebody 
right  away  for  Mabel  Rose's  part.  They're  rehears- 
ing now." 

"For  Mabel  Rose's  part!"  To  Susie  her  own  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  a  long  way  off.  She  was  so  sur- 
prised that  she  scarcely  knew  if  she  was  even  pleased.  It 
was  as  though  somebody  had  handed  her  the  moon. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Reagle,  "I'll  give  you  a  note  to 
the  stage-manager.  But  don't  go  to  the  stage  door. 
Hand  in  the  note  at  the  box-office;  they'll  put  you  in 
front  somewhere,  to  watch  the  rehearsal.  Are  you  a 
quick  study  ? ' '  Susie  nodded.  Coherency  still  swam  be- 
yond her  grasp. 


ABOVE  RUBIES  233 

"For  you'll  have  to  get  up  in  it  like  lightning.  There 
are  so  many  openings  to-night  and  to-morrow  night 
they've  deferred  theirs  till  Wednesday.  They've 
played  the  piece  three  nights  out  of  town,  and  they're 
not  satisfied  with  Rose,  and  they've  grabbed  this  chance 
to  make  a  change.  Somebody  will  take  your  card  in 
to  Wallis — he's  putting  on  the  piece — and  as  soon  as 
rehearsal's  over  you  can  settle  everything  with  him  and 
Hendricks.  They  furnish  the  clothes." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  I  ought  to  ask  them,  Miss 
Reagle?"  asked  Susie,  dropping  toward  the  earth. 

"Well,  of  course,  you  can  ask  them  seventy-five,  but 
you're  a  fool  if  you  stick  at  salary,  child.  It's  the 
chance  of  your  life."  Beginning  to  write  the  note,  she 
said:  "You  will  have  a  rehearsal  with  Wallis  or  with 
Potter,  the  stage  manager,  directly  the  other  rehearsal's 
over."  Finishing  the  note,  she  handed  it  to  Susie. 
"You  go  right  round  there  now,  my  dear,"  said  she; 
"they're  expecting  you." 

Susie  went  "right  round  there,"  preserving  while  in- 
doors a  tremulously  radiant  decorum,  but,  as  soon  as 
she  reached  the  sidewalk,  she  flew.  Her  feet  seemed 
scarcely  to  move  of  themselves ;  the  air  seemed  to  sparkle. 
Her  spirit  at  once  sang  and  shivered  in  an  ecstasy  of 
nervousness;  when  she  spoke  she  feared  that  her  heart 
would  tremble  in  her  voice.  Then  the  thought  of  return- 
ing home,  of  kissing  the  baby,  of  telling  Walter — ah,  of 
telling  Walter! — softly  flooded  her  with  warmth.  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  flitted  up  the  lobby  of  the 
theatre  and  gave  in  the  note  at  the  box-office. 


234  MERELY  PLAYERS 

III 

Seated  at  the  back  of  the  large  auditorium,  Susie 
eagerly  surveyed  the  peopled  stage.  She  could  not  find 
Mr.  Jervis,  the  author,  but  Mr.  Potter,  the  stage  man- 
ager, sat  at  the  prompt-table  fumbling  with  the  manu- 
script; "Wallis,  the  producer,  the  Stage-Manager  Ex- 
traordinary, sprang  here  and  there  with  impassioned, 
shirt-sleeved  gestures,  correcting,  expounding,  arrang- 
ing. The  back  door  was  open  and  the  rear  of  the  stage 
was  gray  in  the  daylight ;  forward,  by  the  prompt-table, 
a  big  bunch  light  shed  a  warm  yellow  mistiness.  As  the 
actors  advanced  into  this  limited  brightness  Susie  en- 
deavored to  make  sure  of  their  identities;  suddenly  a 
girl,  a  familiar,  airy  figure,  came  into  the  magic  circle. 
She  turned  her  face  to  the  light,  and  Susie  recognized 
Mabel  Rose.  Susie's  heart  gave  a  sick  little  jump. 
"  They  haven 't  told  her !" 

It  was  now  abundantly  clear  why  she  had  been  sent, 
with  so  mysterious  a  hush,  through  the  front  part  of  the 
house.  Miss  Rose  still  expected  to  play  the  part.  They 
had  not  dared  to  discharge  her  before  they  had  acquired 
Susie,  and,  moreover,  it  was  invaluable  to  the  newcomer 
to  see  the  part  rehearsed.  Susie's  hot  scorn  of  such 
tactics  was  quickly  cooled  by  her  helplessness  beneath 
them,  and  after  a  single  throb  of  indignation  she  set  to 
work  seriously  at  absorbing  the  rehearsal. 

But  as  beneath  her  scrutiny  the  action  slowly  cleared 
and  settled,  she  became  aware  of  something  truly  terri- 
fying. Miss  Rose  was  unsatisfactory  in  the  part  not  be- 
cause she  was  bad  in  it,  but  because  she  was  too  good. 
To  her  successor  this  was  appalling  but  indisputable. 


ABOVE  RUBIES  235 

And  it  was  all  the  author's  fault.  Commissioned  to 
write  a  play  for  Katherine  Erskine,  his  star  part  was 
wood  and  putty;  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  ingenue 
as  he  wrote  her,  and  she  had  taken  life  and  breath,  she 
had  grown  into  beauty  and  laughter  beneath  his  hands. 
He  would  always  insist  that  the  part  be  well  played. 
Miss  Erskine,  with  less  frankness,  would  see  to  it  that  it 
was  not.  The  management,  bedeviled  and  befogged, 
would  hang  fire  between  the  two.  Yet,  it  was  Miss 
Erskine  most  certainly  who  was  to  be  exploited.  To 
keep  the  position  one  must  never  play  the  part  for  all  it 
was  worth,  and  innocent  Miss  Rose,  tiptoe  with  the 
ecstasy  of  triumphant  work,  knew  no  other  way  to  play 
it. 

But  Susie  knew.  The  situation  was  not  pleasant,  but 
Susie  believed  herself  mistress  of  it.  She  leaned  for- 
ward, "spotting"  breathlessly  the  points  that  she  was 
sure  pricked  Miss  Erskine  sorely  and  must  be  blunted; 
the  other  points  than  the  author,  the  stage  manager,  the 
whole  set  of  bunglers  would  insist  upon,  and  which  she 
would  drive  home  at  any  cost.  Here  was  a  laugh  that 
could  be  lost,  there  was  a  round  of  applause  that  could 
be  stifled.  Let  them  go,  she  could  spare  them!  What, 
what  a  bag  of  tricks  there  still  remained !  The  darling 
part  seemed,  like  a  jewel,  to  sparkle  the  more,  the  more 
it  was  cut.  Miss  Rose,  amid  the  intricacies  of  the  situa- 
tion, rode  high  on  her  popular  personality;  but  Susie, 
the  competent,  the  experienced,  the  expert,  smiled  to  her- 
self demurely,  and  knew  her  way. 

The  rehearsal  drew  toward  its  close,  Susie  still  ob- 
serving it  with  mounting  ardor.  Then  she  heard  it  dis- 
missed, and  the  call  given  for  a  dress-rehearsal  the  next 


236  MERELY  PLAYERS 

night.  She  shrank  from  seeing  the  stage  manager  call 
Miss  Rose  aside  as  she  would  have  shrunk  from  it  had  he 
carried  a  knife  in  his  hand,  and  between  the  horror  of 
this  and  the  dread  of  the  call  which  the  next  few  minutes 
would  make  upon  her  own  resources,  she  crouched  back 
in  her  seat,  a  little  sick.  And,  immediately,  she  ob- 
served Miss  Rose  pausing  at  the  stage  door,  flaring  out 
her  pink  beruffled  parasol  and  blithely  issuing  forth, 
with  at  least  three  of  the  young  men  of  the  company 
prancing  at  her  heels.  Still  she  had  not  been  told! 
They  must  mean  to  send  her  a  note.  Susie's  heart  was 
getting  higher  and  higher,  thicker  and  thicker  in  her 
throat.  She  could  spare  no  more  thought  for  poor  Miss 
Rose.  In  another  moment — oh,  if  she  had  only  had  the 
part  for  a  few  days!  If  only  she  had  had  those  three 
nights  on  the  road!  A  hand  touched  her  on  the  shoul- 
der. A  man's  voice  said:  "Miss  Grayce,  Mr.  Potter 
says  will  you  please  step  back  onto  the  stage?"  The 
young  man  was  waiting  to  escort  her ;  she  shut  her  eyes, 
swallowed,  smiled,  rose,  acquiesced  inaudibly,  and  fol- 
lowed him. 

IV 

Late  that  afternoon  Miss  Folsom  and  Mr.  Potter  ac- 
companied Susie  across  the  stage  and  up  the  stairs  to 
the  manager's  office,  with  a  smiling  flutter  more  signifi- 
cant than  trumpets.  Mr.  Hendricks  was  sitting  at  his 
desk,  and  Miss  Erskine  gave  Susie  a  caressing  push  over 
the  threshold  and  then  addressed  Mr.  Hendricks  over 
Susie's  head.  "Here's  your  little  ingenue." 

Mr.  Hendricks  caught  her  tone,  glanced  at  the  corrob- 
orative face  of  Mr.  Potter,  and  then  turned  cordially  to 


ABOVE  RUBIES  237 

Susie.  ' '  Wallis  and  I  saw  part  of  your  rehearsal, ' '  said 
he ;  ' '  I  guess  we  can  consider  things  settled. ' '  He  drew 
a  chair  face  to  face  with  his,  and  waved  a  friendly  hand. 
"Sit  down  here."  Susie  sat  down;  Potter  continued  to 
hang  about  the  threshold;  Miss  Erskine  wandered  dis- 
creetly to  a  desk  across  the  room  and  began  to  read  a 
newspaper  she  found  there.  Susie  and  her  fate  faced 
each  other.  "Well,"  said  Mr.  Hendricks  indulgently, 
"you  understand  you  haven't  got  much  time  to  get  up 
in  this  part,  Miss  Grayce,  but  we  '11  help  you  out  the  best 
we  can.  Now,  how  much  salary  are  you  going  to  hold 
me  up  for?" 

"Seventy-five  dollars,"  said  Susie. 

"Correct,"  said  Mr.  Hendricks.  Susie  settled  herself 
in  her  chair.  It  seemed  a  facile  world. 

"Now  about  the  clothes.  We  furnish  the  dresses. 
But  for  shoes  and  gloves  and  so  on — "  Susie  opened 
her  mouth  and  hastily  closed  it.  Mr.  Hendricks  looked 
sharply  at  her.  ' '  Do  you  want  an  advance  ? "  he  asked. 
Susie  faltered.  He  took  out  a  check-book,  wrote  and 
handed  her  a  check.  "Well,  I  was  going  to  say,  you're 
a  little  bit  smaller  than  Miss  Rose,  but  we  '11  have  one  of 
Mme.  Durand's  ladies  down  here  at  the  dress-rehearsal, 
and  she  can  take  up  each  dress  while  it 's  on  you ;  every- 
thing'11  be  ready  for  you  all  right  for  Wednesday 
night." — " Everything '11  be  ready  for  you."  After  the 
tyranny  of  preparation  for  the  weekly  change  of  bill  in 
the  stock  company  where  Susie  had  last  played,  after  all 
the  grinding  economies  and  contrivances  of  the  summer, 
here  was  peace,  plenty,  balm  to  one's  self-respect — here 
was  high  life.  She  put  the  check  in  her  pocketbook. 

Mr.  Hendricks  was  saying:     "I'll  get  Potter  to  give 


238  MERELY  PLAYERS 

you  a  copy  of  the  manuscript — and  do  you  want  to  re- 
hearse some  to-night?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Susie,  "if  I  may." 

"You  got  anything  on  for  to-night,  Miss  Erskine?" 
Hendricks  called  out.  "Could  Miss  Grayce  come  and 
run  over  the  lines  with  you  awhile  ?  She  and  Potter  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  why,  to  be  sure  she  can,"  Miss  Erskine  sweetly 
responded.  ' '  Come  at  about  eight,  my  dear. ' ' 

"You're  sure  you  oughtn't  to  take  this  evening  to 
study?"  Mr.  Hendricks  asked.  "How  much  do  you 
think  you  can  be  up  in,  by  the  morning?" 

"Oh,  I'll  take  all  night  to  study,"  Susie  laughed. 
She  made  a  hasty  calculation.  Wallie  would  sit  up  with 
her  and  hear  her  the  part;  he  could  make  black  coffee 
and  keep  them  both  awake.  "There  won't  be  any  trou- 
ble about  my  lines,"  said  she. 

' '  Isn  't  she  a  treasure ! ' '  cried  Miss  Erskine. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hendrieks,  "you  come  down  about 
ten  to-morrow,  and  you  and  Potter  can  hammer  at  it  all 
day.  I  'spose  you  couldn't  come  down  awhile,  Miss 
Erskine?" 

"Um-umh,  n-no,  I  don't  think  I  could.  The  dress- 
rehearsal  is  not  until  eight.  Not  that  I  shall  dress,  of 
course.  Still,  I've  got  to  have  some  rest." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hendricks  again,  "I  guess  we  can 
depend  on  Miss  Grayce,  anyhow." 

Miss  Erskine  rapturously  reiterated:  "Isn't  she  a 
little  wonder!" 

"You  see,  I  know  her  of  old,"  said  Mr.  Hendricks. 
"She  played  an  ingenue  lead  with  me  in  'Vermont 
Girls.'  "  He  turned  to  Susie.  "I  was  telling  Miss  Rea- 
gle  a  while  ago  that  that  was  the  last  part  you'd 


ABOVE  RUBIES  239 

played  in  New  York,  but  she  said  no,  you  made  your 
biggest  hit  the  spring  afterward  in  'Men  and  Money.'  ' 

1  'So  she  did,"  exclaimed  Miss  Erskine,  "that  was 
when  we  wore  those  great  long  trains ;  she  looked  like  a 
doll  in  one,  I  remember.  Of  course,  I  was  nothing  but 
a  child  then  myself. ' ' 

At  this  point  Mr.  Wallis  appeared,  embracing  all 
salutations  in  one  curt  nod.  Susie,  who  was  speaking 
mechanically,  continued :  ' '  The  very  last  thing  I  played 
in  New  York  was  Dora  in  Brinton's  'Kansas.'  '  She 
had  said  the  same  thing  that  summer  to  managers  and 
agents  a  dreary  score  of  times,  and  had  not  won  a  flicker 
of  recognition,  but  now  Mr.  Potter  smiled  propitiat- 
ingly  and  said:  "I  saw  you  in  that — Mr.  Staples,  the 
treasurer,  said  to  me  just  now  as  you  came  in :  '  Isn  't 
that  the  little  girl  that  played  in  Kansas?'  "  "And  I," 
chimed  in  Mr.  Wallis,  "I  said  'yes,  if  any  one  should 
ask  you.'  ' 

Susie  stood  there  breathing  quickly,  her  eyes  bright- 
ening from  one  speaker  to  another.  It  seemed  as  if  to- 
day 's  engagement  had  acted  like  a  calcium  on  her  career. 
No  effort  of  hers  for  months  had  been  able  to  bring  her 
past  out  of  the  shadow  of  her  obscure  present,  but  now 
it  seemed  as  if  people  had  been  only  waiting  to  recognize 
her;  all  of  a  sudden  they  remembered  her  perfectly,  re- 
membered the  successes  she  had  made,  the  very  dresses 
she  had  worn;  she  was  as  well  known  again  as  if  she 
had  never  left  Broadway.  The  change  of  air  was  wel- 
come to  her;  she  drank  it  in  greedily. 

"And  wore  my  hair  in  long  curls,"  Miss  Erskine 
was  saying;  "they  used  to  tell  me — 

"All  right,"  said  Hendricks;  "then  you  understand 


240  MERELY  PLAYERS 

about  everything,  Miss  Grayce?  You  be  at  Miss  Er- 
skine  's  at  eight  this  evening.  Here — first,  second,  fourth ; 
where's  the  third  act,  Potter?  Oh,  here's  the  manu- 
script. To-morrow,  here  at  the  theatre,  at  ten.  Dress- 
rehearsal  to-morrow  night,  at  eight. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  sir, ' '  said  Susie. 

Potter  began  to  cough.  "Don't  you  think,"  he  in- 
tervened, "we  might  give  Miss  Grayce  till  a  little  later, 
till  we  have  got  as  far  as — ah — "  His  face  was  drawn 
almost  into  a  point  with  the  effort  to  be  significant. 

"Later!"  Susie  cried,  "and  with  dresses  I've  never 
seen !  Why,  I  '11  be  here  at  six  o  'clock ! ' ' 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!"  cried  Miss  Erskine;  "Rose  'ud  be 
onto  us  in  a  minute ! ' ' 

A  dreadful  silence  followed  this  extraordinary  remark. 
Everyone  was  excessively  jarred,  but  Susie,  on  whom 
the  real  blow  had  fallen,  was  in  the  grasp  of  something 
cold  and  stiff;  she  felt  neither  hope  nor  dread,  only  a 
horrid  pounding  of  the  heart.  So,  it  was  not  an  ordi- 
nary case  of  discharging  one  girl  and  engaging  another. 
They  were  still  intentionally  deceiving  Miss  Rose;  they 
were  going  to  play  her  some  trick  at  which  she,  Susie, 
was  to  connive.  She  put  out  one  hand  and  gripped  the 
edge  of  Mr.  Hendrick's  desk.  "You  have  not  dis- 
charged Miss  Rose  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"Miss  Grayce!"  Hendricks  reprovingly  turned  his 
back  on  her  and  lighted  a  cigar.  He  said  over  his  shoul- 
der :  ' '  That 's  about  up  to  the  management. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Susie. 

Miss  Erskine  cried  out:     "Well,  I  never." 

"No,"  persisted  Susie,  "we  can't  both  be  engaged  for 
the  part.  Who  is?" 


ABOVE  RUBIES  241 

At  this  Miss  Erskine  came  forward,  with  a  laugh,  and 
threw  a  protective  arm  round  Susie's  shoulders.  "Oh, 
see  here.  What  are  we  all  stewing  about?  Little  Miss 
Grayce  only  wants  to  be  sure  she's  got  the  part,  and  in 
1  this  profession  I  don't  blame  her."  The  managerial 
brow  cleared;  Hendricks  believed  Miss  Erskine 's  sug- 
gestion, and  he  allowed  her  to  go  on  talking.  "Why, 
look  here,  Miss  Grayce,  it'll  be  all  right.  You  can  be 
perfectly  sure  she's  not  going  to  play  that  part  the  first 
night  in  New  York.  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  we 
can  give  her  two  weeks'  salary  and  let  her  go.  Only  we 
should  have  such  an  awful  time  afterward  with  Jervis. 
His  being  out  of  town  makes  it  just  right." 

"Out  of  town!"  cried  Susie.  "He  won't  be  here  till 
the  dress-rehearsal  ?  Oh,  he  won 't  be  here  for  the  dress- 
rehearsal.  ' ' 

"Well,  what  does  he  want  of  a  dress-rehearsal?" 
Something  in  Susie's  voice  had  startled  her.  She  threw 
her  parasol  angrily  on  the  desk.  "Hasn't  he  seen  us 
three  nights  on  the  road?  He's  gone  to  Boston  for  the 
opening  of  his  other  piece.  My  God,  does  she  think  I  'm 
keeping  him  away ! ' ' 

"Miss  Erskine!"  Hendricks  interrupted. 

She  recalled  her  amiability.  "But  we  shan't  have 
to  do  anything.  Rose '11  go  of  herself  fast  enough  when 
she  finds  her  best  scene  cut  out — "  A  slight  general 
movement  gave  her  pause.  "Oh,  well,  of  course,  it 
won't  really  be  cut — " 

"Miss  Erskine,  when  you've  finished  confiding  in  Miss 
Grayce — "  Hendrick's  tone  cowed  her  a  little.  She  stood 
muttering.  He  looked  at  Susie.  "You  will  meet  Miss 

Erskine  at  her  apartment  at  eight  this  evening. ' ' 
16 


242  MEEELY  PLAYERS 

Susie  stood  still.  So  that  was  what  they  depended 
on !  With  the  author  determined  to  have  Miss  Rose  play 
the  part,  they  were  prevented  from  discharging  her 
without  notice,  and  so,  at  this  last  rehearsal,  conducted 
without  him,  they  meant  to  put  upon  her  this  extreme 
affront,  this  trumped-up  cause  for  a  quarrel  they  had 
resolved  to  pick,  a  quarrel  which  would  force  her  to  give 
up  the  part,  which  would  force  her  to  discharge  herself. 
And  at  this  late  date  they  would  not  dare  to  quarrel  with 
her  unless,  now,  Susie  swore  herself  in  with  the  plot  and 
stood  ready.  She  was  not  accepting  an  empty  place, 
she  was  crowding  out  someone  else — like  Norman  Law- 
rence, like  Helen  Graham's  sister.  She  knew  the  ver- 
dict of  Broadway,  high  and  low — had  herself  pro- 
nounced it  many  a  time.  Still  resting  passive,  she 
looked  at  Miss  Erskine,  then  at  Potter,  then  at  Wallis, 
at  Hendricks.  She  saw  what  she  was  doing.  Her  pause 
was  rousing  in  these  people  an  implacable  offense.  Sud- 
denly she  was  among  enemies.  And  they  and  their  al- 
lies were  the  masters  of  her  life,  dealers  of  bread  to  her 
and  to  her  baby;  behind  them  the  dreadful  barriers  of 
the  great  Trust  stretched  from  horizon  to  horizon  of  her 
world.  A  favorite  phrase  of  Walter's  rattled  across  her 
mind — "It's  up  to  you,  Susie." 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  Her  little  face  went  white 
and  the  life  withered  in  it,  but  she  got  the  check  out  of 
her  purse,  and  laid  it  with  the  manuscript  upon  the  desk. 
"I  wish — I — could  have  done  it."  She  smiled  faintly 
at  them  and  gravely  inclined  her  head  as  a  farewell. 
Though  it  was  she  who  had  -won  out,  she  went  meekly 
from  the  room  and  down  the  stairs ;  she  fairly  ran  across 
the  stage.  But  in  the  doorway,  where  Miss  Rose  had 


ABOVE  RUBIES  243 

hoisted  her  pink  parasol,  she  paused  a  moment.  After 
the  dark  theatre,  there  was  a  kind  of  tawdy  squalor  in 
the  day,  in  the  hot  glare  of  the  late  sun.  Among  those 
shadows  she  had  felt  a  horrid  sensation  that  the  world 
had  come  to  an  end ;  here,  the  trouble  was  that  it  had  not. 
The  surging,  snatching  terrors  of  that  real  life  to  which 
she  was  returning  streamed  before  her  in  a  choking  tide ; 
she  stood  for  a  moment  clinging  to  the  door-frame  and 
then  plunged  forward  into  the  street. 


In  the  little  boarding-house  where  Susie  lived,  the 
fumes  of  dinner  were  already  straggling  through  the 
halls,  that  grew  dingier  and  dingier  in  their  sultry  dusk. 
Half-way  up  the  stairs  a  disheveled  infant  rose  from  the 
step  where  it  had  been  sitting,  and  with  an  ardent 
snuffle  cast  itself  about  Susie's  knees.  Geraldine  was  a 
heavy  girl,  but  Susie  picked  her  up  and  staggered  to  the 
landing  with  her.  Here  they  were  met  by  Mr.  Bates, 
pale,  perspiring,  and  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  "It's  extraor- 
dinary how  she  manages  to  get  away  from  one,"  said 
he,  and  he  took  the  crushy  and  sticky  bundle  out  of 
Susie's  arms. 

In  their  own  room,  when  the  door  was  shut  and  Gerald- 
ine  once  more  relegated  to  the  bed,  Susie  placed  the  sub- 
missive Mr.  Bates  in  the  rocker  and  stood  humbly  before 
him.  She  lifted  a  strained  little  voice  above  the  yelps  and 
leaps  of  Climax,  and  told  her  story.  Walter  beheld  her, 
waiting,  as  it  were,  the  verdict.  He  stood  up  and  tapped 
her  on  the  shoulder.  "Well,  Mrs.  Bates,"  said  he,  "I 
am  glad  that  you  consider  yourself  something  besides  a 
meal-ticket.  I  am  subject  to  better  moments  my  own 


244  MERELY  PLAYERS 

self.  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry!  Susie,  don't  cry! 
Don't  you  know  you're  rather  small,  dear,  to  provide 
fortunes  for  the  Bateses?  What?  "Well,  cry — well, 
cry  away  then,  honey."  He  felt  with  a  deep  sting  of 
tenderness  the  despair  in  which  she  clung  to  him,  and 
then  he  made  out  she  was  gasping  with  big  sobs :  "What 
— ever — will — be — come — of — us  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  now,"  said  he,  "you  can't  possibly  prove  that  I 
shan't  get  something.  There  are  still  the  dark,  unfath- 
omed  caves  of  the  stock  companies.  And  if  I  don't, 
there  is  still — "  he  stopped. 

She  pulled  a  little  away  from  him,  and  then  with  an 
"Oh,  yes,"  she  took  off  her  ruby  bracelet  and  put  it  in 
his  hand.  "Take  it,  to-morrow,  so  we  can  pay  Mrs. 
Lexis.  But,  Wallie,  don't  try  to  sell  it.  Pawn  it.  If," 
she  was  still  crying  very  hard,  "if  you  should  get  any- 
thing to  do,  maybe  we  can  get  it  back ! ' ' 

And  Mr.  Bates  replied,  "Oh,  sure  to." 


AN  INDISCRETION  OF  HIS  MAJESTY 


AN  INDISCRETION  OF  HIS  MAJESTY 

THE  threat  that  had  come  with  the  dawn  had  grown 
as  the  day  grew,  so  that  even  in  the  early  morn- 
ing the  country  lay  exhausted  beneath  the  conquering 
heat.  By  breakfast  time  the  long  trip  that  stretched 
before  a  certain  theatrical  company  seemed  unbearable, 
an  impossible  thing — to  be  averted  somehow,  anyhow,  if 
only  by  some  awful  miracle  of  nature. 

But  at  ten  o'clock  balm  descended.  For  at  about  that 
time  various  of  the  actors,  straggling  reluctantly  into 
the  little  railway  station,  discovered  that  an  accident  had 
happened,  dazzling  though  dreadful:  by  some  awe-in- 
spiring blunder  "His  Majesty's"  special  car  had  been 
left  behind!  His  Majesty's  car!  the  star's  car!  That 
is  to  say,  his  rich  region,  his  plenteous  space,  his  privacy 
and  peace  and  very  royalty,  secluded  within  which,  re- 
mote, august,  he  was  want  to  luxuriate  and  keep  cool. 
And  now  it  was  gone !  For  the  worst  jump  of  the  sea- 
son— a  jump  which  any  listener  would  have  hitherto 
supposed  to  be  arranged  between  His  Majesty  and  Provi- 
dence because  of  a  special  spite  they  had  against  the 
company — here  was  His  Majesty  reduced  to  the  level  of 
the  common  herd !  The  herd  began  to  wink  and  to  ad- 
mit that  Providence  might  be  on  its  side.  For  the 
blessed  privilege  of  seeing  the  great  man's  impotence, 
of  watching  him  fume  and  rage,  yes,  and  swelter  and 
stew  with  the  rest  of  them,  and  grow  grimy,  too,  and 

247 


248  MERELY  PLAYERS 

perhaps  fall  asleep  with  his  mouth  open,  for  this  gratifi- 
cation the  members  of  his  company  entered  willingly, 
even  joyously,  the  fiery  furnace  of  that  western  accom- 
modation train. 

His  Majesty  entered  with  them,  his  acute  conscious- 
ness of  their  pleasantries  stiffening  his  gait.  There  were 
few  things  in  life  of  which  His  Majesty  was  not  con- 
scious, and  at  present  he  knew  perfectly  well  the  picture 
of  balked  privilege  which  he  presented  to  a  gloating 
proletariat.  The  breath  of  nervous  ill-temper  stirred 
his  nostrils.  But,  perhaps  unhappily,  his  frozen  de- 
meanor could  not  chill  the  atmosphere. 

The  train  was  very  late,  of  course,  and  crowded. 
There  was  some  sort  of  German  excursion  which  alone 
pretty  well  filled  it,  and  the  newcomers  scrunched  their 
way  through  popcorn  and  peanut-shells  in  a  scramble 
for  seats.  His  Majesty  was  too  self-conscious  to  scram- 
ble, but  the  divinity  which  hedges  stars  saved  him  a 
whole  seat.  His  heavy  man  sat  crowded  onto  the  arm 
of  one  at  a  little  distance.  His  Majesty  knew  that  the 
heavy  man  saw  the  vacant  place,  and  hated  him  for  his 
diffidence.  ' '  Am  I  such  an  ogre  ? ' '  thought  His  Majesty, 
and  left  the  man  to  his  discomfort. 

The  train  steamed  and  bumped  slowly  forward,  stop- 
ping to  take  on  coal,  or  to  take  on  water,  or  whenever  it 
saw  a  couple  of  sheds,  or  whenever  it  got  to  the  middle 
of  a  nice,  open,  sunny  field.  Whenever  it  stopped  or 
started,  the  old  cars  heaved  and  groaned  and  grumbled ; 
through  the  open  windows  hot  waves  of  dusty  air  tossed 
the  cinders  that  seemed  cleaner  than  the  velvet  of  the 
seats.  Stars  might  sit  as  tight  as  they  would,  but  the 
atmosphere,  the  stain  of  the  place,  was  pervasive,  in- 


AN  INDISCRETION  OF  HIS  MAJESTY      249 

escapable.  At  the  rear  of  the  car  a  little  girl,  still  a 
baby,  pricked  to  tempest  by  an  insufferable  universe, 
quarreled  with  her  guardian,  emitting  loud  howls,  and, 
subsiding,  was  allowed  to  run  clattering  up  and  down 
the  aisle.  There  were  a  great  many  other  children,  from 
whom  the  fathers  in  their  heavy  best  clothes  seemed 
hopelessly  alienated ;  the  weary  mothers  began  to  get  out 
lunch  baskets.  The  noise,  jar  and  grime,  the  rank,  evil 
heat,  all  the  horrors  of  compressed  humanity,  sickened 
His  Majesty  with  a  sense  of  futile  pity  and  distaste. 

Out  under  that  scorching  sky,  and  closer,  too,  beside 
the  track,  men  were  at  work.  His  Majesty,  always  dis- 
dainful of  his  fastidious  luxury,  was  tragically  aware  of 
their  moiled  dog-weariness  and  felt  the  rebellion  and 
oppression  of  it  as  if  it  were  his  own.  All  his  sympa- 
thies lay  that  way,  with  toil,  with  pain,  and  with  the 
honorable  stupidity  of  crushing  labor;  on  the  stage  no 
one  else  could  play  them  as  he  could.  He  had  no  sympa- 
thy whatever  with  the  stupidity  of  his  pretty  young 
leading  woman  who  was  making  herself  extremely  con- 
spicuous by  challenging  public  admiration  for  the  vi- 
vacity of  her  badinage  with  the  heavy  man;  there  was 
even  a  moment  when  His  Majesty  feared  that  she  was 
about  to  break  into  song.  She  whispered  something  to 
two  of  the  actors,  who  burst  out  laughing,  and  His 
Majesty  wondered  if  they  were  laughing  at  him !  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  nobody  dared  to  tell  him  a  joke  nor  offer 
him  a  sandwich.  Not  for  nothing  did  His  Majesty  con- 
ceal, beneath  the  troublesome  unconventionality  of  a 
moustache,  the  sensitiveness  of  a  mouth  that  was  his  best 
feature.  He  concealed  it  so  well  that  perhaps  His  Maj- 
esty's life  was  a  little  homesick  in  the  world:  a  place 


250  MERELY  PLAYERS 

with  which  he  had  never  been  able  quite  to  identify  him- 
self. And  so  he  pretended  to  read  a  newspaper. 

He  was  soon  interrupted  by  a  sound  at  his  elbow ;  the 
lately  obstreperous  infant  was  standing  at  the  end  of  his 
seat,  and  now  laid  upon  it's  edge  a  small,  moist,  pudgy 
hand.  His  Majesty  looked  at  her  through  his  half-shut 
eyes.  Through  very  wide  eyes  indeed,  light  blue  and  of 
a  marble  calm,  the  child  judicially  regarded  him. 

She  was  an  inexpressibly  German  child,  with  firm,  red 
cheeks,  a  solid  figure  and  a  large,  round  head.  The  ab- 
sence of  her  hat  displayed  side  locks  gathered  into 
diminutive  pig-tails  and  fastened  on  the  top  of  her  head 
with  a  large  blue  bow,  while,  around  her  fat  little  warm 
neck,  indefinite  lengths  of  blonde  hair  straggled  vaguely. 
She  wore  a  brown  cashmere  dress  much  too  long  for  her, 
trimmed  with  rows  and  bows  of  light  blue  ribbon;  in 
her  hand  she  clutched  a  few  dusty  dandelions.  Her 
grave,  ruminating  face  was  still  flushed  with  past 
tragedy,  and  damp  circles  still  emphasized  her  crumpled 
eyelids.  There  was  apparent  in  her  clumsy  grace  an 
intangible  German  something  of  innocence,  goodness, 
femininity. 

She  regarded  His  Majesty  for  a  long  time  in  medi- 
tative silence,  and  then  stepped  close  to  him  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  knee.  His  Majesty  was  embarrassed, 
for  he  was  afraid  of  children.  And  suddenly  this  one 
spoke. 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  His  Majesty.  The  child 
tried  again,  but  what  she  said  was  in  baby  German,  and 
His  Majesty  could  not  understand.  There  was  a  sugges- 
tion, however,  in  the  inclination  of  her  plump  little 
figure,  and  His  Majesty  vaguely  remembered  having 


AN  INDISCRETION  OF  HIS  MAJESTY      251 

seen  children  standing  about  on  the  seats  of  cars.  He 
laid  his  hand  questioningly  on  the  red  velvet  of  the  seat 
and  the  child  instantly  held  up  her  arms.  His  Majesty 
drew  himself  nervously  together,  seized  her  with  a  grip 
of  iron  helow  the  armpits  and  the  next  moment  she  stood 
beside  him,  safe !  His  Majesty  sat  back  with  a  long,  re- 
lieved breath. 

It  was  the  window  which  the  little  girl  desired,  not 
the  mere  seat.  With  a  grave  and  gentle  cumbrousness 
she  grasped  His  Majesty's  shoulder  and  planted  her 
sturdy  little  foot  upon  his  leg.  This  bearing  the  test, 
she  stood  a  single  triumphant  instant  on  his  knees.  At 
that  moment  the  car  gave  a  jolt,  and  down  plumped  the 
baby,  with  wide-eyed  serenity,  full  into  His  Majesty's 
lap.  There  she  sat  and  there  she  stayed.  There,  from 
the  favored  spot  of  her  selection,  she  radiated  moist  and 
sticky  content.  Her  solemn,  joyous  eyes  followed  the 
landscape. 

After  a  while,  amused  members  of  His  Majesty's  com- 
pany began  to  nudge  each  other  and  make  signals  of 
wonderment;  the  comedian  commented,  "Generally,  eats 
'em  alive."  His  Majesty  gave  no  sign.  The  leading 
lady,  desirous  of  making  a  particularly  gracious  picture, 
knelt  down  to  play  with  the  baby  and  spoke  sweetly  to 
her.  The  baby  regarded  her  long  and  seriously,  and, 
having  evidently  found  her  wanting,  returned  calmly 
to  the  study  of  nature.  The  car  heaved  forward,  and 
the  leading  lady  went  away.  His  Majesty  remained 
passive  and  listened  with  what  he  supposed  to  be  an 
impenetrably  matter-of-fact  expression  to  the  remarks 
which  the  child  occasionally  addressed  to  him  in  her 
imperfect  German;  she  required  no  answer  of  him,  ex- 


252  MERELY  PLAYERS 

cept  a  smile.  With  the  stub  of  a  finger  she  pointed  out 
to  him,  in  utter  confidence  of  his  appreciation,  an  oc- 
casional cow,  duck  or  black  dog.  She  propped  herself 
against  his  breast  with  her  little  cashmered  elbow,  and 
loved  the  world.  And  presently  His  Majesty  did  a 
tremendous  thing.  Perhaps  to  steady  her,  or  to  save 
her  from  sliding  to  a  fall,  he  put  his  arm  around  the 
waistless  little  body  and  drew  it  closer  to  him.  The 
earth  was  not  shaken  by  this  event,  nor  the  baby  as- 
tounded. 

It  grew  hotter  and  hotter  in  the  crowded  car,  and 
the  odor  of  peanuts  became  more  and  more  aggressive. 
The  fat  little  child  with  her  sticky  mouth  and  hands 
sank  more  and  more  heavily  against  His  Majesty,  and 
bye-and-bye  the  lids  began  to  droop  over  her  sweet  light 
eyes.  Then,  with  a  little  round  sigh,  her  head  pillowed 
itself  upon  that  elegant  waistcoat  and  she  slept. 

His  Majesty  sat  still  for  a  long  time  and  looked  at 
nothing.  The  car  shook  and  rumbled  and  swore  and 
smoked.  In  the  midst  of  her  sleep,  the  child  lifted  her 
hand  with  a  sort  of  fretfulness,  and  waved  it  vaguely 
across  her  forehead.  With  a  fierce  pang  of  self-reproach 
he  saw  that  the  sunlight  struck  full  in  the  baby's  face. 
He  put  up  his  free  arm,  the  one  nearest  the  window,  and 
tried  to  pull  down  the  wooden  blind,  but  found  it,  as 
usual,  immovable.  He  was  terrified  at  not  being  able 
to  do  something  quickly. 

Above  all,  he  mustn't  wake  her.  There  was  a  news- 
paper on  the  back  of  the  next  seat,  and,  by  infinite 
precautions,  he  got  it  into  his  grasp  without  disaster. 
With  the  fingers  of  both  hands,  he  pressed  it  into  some- 
thing fan-shaped  and  manageable,  and  held  it  before 


AN  INDISCRETION  OF  HIS  MAJESTY      253 

the  window  like  a  screen.  He  was  indescribably  soothed 
to  find  it  successful,  though  his  elbow  was  propped  on 
layers  of  grime  and  cinders,  and,  as  time  went  on,  his 
unshielded  arm  and  hand  quivered  in  the  sun.  The  day 
waxed  to  its  full  strength,  the  arm  round  the  child 
grew  first  prickly  and  then  numb,  while  from  her  own 
little  hand  her  withered  dandelions  slipped  to  the  floor, 
and  slowly  perished  there.  And  still  His  Majesty  pos- 
sessed his  soul  and  his  heart  was  quiet  in  him. 

At  about  three  o'clock  a  stir  followed  one  of  the  con- 
ductor's spasms  of  announcements;  fathers  began  to  col- 
lect bundles,  and  mothers  to  worry  their  children 's  head- 
gear. A  young  German  woman  smilingly  approached 
His  Majesty,  and  laid  a  heavy,  gentle  hand  on  the  child's 
shoulder.  "T'ank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  and  drew  the 
sleepy  little  figure  to  her  own  arms. 

The  child  half  awoke,  and  the  mother  was  turning 
away  with  her,  when  she  felt  His  Majesty's  detaining 
fingers  on  her  arm.  He  had  gathered  up  the  handful  of 
dead  dandelions,  and  he  extended  this  treasure  towards 
its  owner  with  a  slight,  grave  inflection.  The  child  sud- 
denly sat  up,  wriggled,  and  descended  to  the  earth  with 
something  of  a  flop.  She  took  the  flowers  out  of  His 
Majesty's  hand,  but  her  look  still  lingered  on  his  serious, 
questioning  smile.  Suddenly  she  thrust  them  back  again, 
and,  holding  up  her  face,  threw  herself  into  His  Ma- 
jesty 's  arms.  His  Majesty  bent  the  big,  black  head  that 
people  were  fond  of  saying  was  too  large  for  his  hat, 
and  she  covered  his  mouth  and  cheeks  with  damp,  little, 
vigorous,  emphatic  kisses. 

The  car  was  nearly  empty  after  the  excursionists  had 
gone.  What  tired  travelers  remained  were  quieter, 


254  MERELY  PLAYERS 

though  still,  out  in  those  heavy  fruitful  fields,  the  work 
of  the  world  went  on.  Even  there  the  torpid  delirium 
of  mid-afternoon  began  to  weaken,  and  the  throttled 
land  to  breathe  more  freely.  The  day's  tyranny  was 
gradually  nearing  its  death,  and  at  last  the  end  of  the 
journey  loomed  a  tangible  thing,  soon  to  be  reached. 
But  still  His  Majesty  immovably  regarded  a  landscape 
that  he  did  not  see,  and  the  blossoms  of  the  little  dead 
weeds  were  still  closed  in  his  hand. 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME 

"'Tishere!" 

"  'Tis  gone!" 

Griscom,  the  chief  of  English  dramatic  critics,  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic  to  see  Miss  Valliant  in  her  new 
play.  The  play  was  called  in  this  translation  ''The 
Water-Lily";  Griscom  had  seen  its  premiere  in  France 
as  well  as  its  London  production  and  he  was  fresh  from 
its  two  hundredth  performance  in  Berlin ;  it  was  a  poetic 
tragedy  with  many  lighter  moods  of  fantastic  and  ethe- 
real mirth,  and  though  these  were  popularized  to  the 
general  by  a  riot  of  scenic  display  the  critic  was  curious 
to  see  just  which  of  its  qualities  carried  farthest  in  the 
new  glaring  country  which  he  had  never  before  visited, 
where  they  were  already  giving  its  name  to  champagnes 
and  patent  medicines,  and  where  the  rush  for  seats  was 
so  great  that  the  police  had  to  be  called  in  to  keep 
order  at  the  box-office.  Yet  it  was  not  really  the  play 
which  had  brought  Griscom  to  New  York,  but  the  fact 
that  he  had  never  seen  Sophia  Valliant  act.  Miss  Val- 
liant !  Sophia  Valliant !  the  great  Sophia ! — after  all  her 
triumphal  visits  to  London !  It  seemed  impossible,  but 
some  perverse  fate  had  always  kept  them  apart. 

Conceive  then  with  what  a  shock  he  heard  on  landing 
that  she  had  been  ill,  had  suffered  heart-attacks  of  such 
violence  that  there  had  been  danger  of  her  losing  some 
17  257 


258  MERELY  PLAYERS 

performances.  It  seeined  like  fate  again,  but,  no,  they 
told  him,  though  the  pain  had  been  so  acute  that  her 
understudy  had  been  kept  up  to  the  mark  day  and 
night  lest  Miss  Valliant  should  be  unable  to  finish  an 
act,  her  wonderful  vitality  had  won  out.  She  was  well 
again  and  so  triumphantly  that  she  was  almost  young 
again. 

Griscom  was  to  view  the  performance  from  the  box 
of  that  celebrated  old  comedienne  retired,  Mrs.  Davitt. 
On  the  night  before  the  event  Mrs.  Davitt  came  to  sup- 
per with  him  and  there  in  the  great  restaurant's  opal- 
escent shadows  beneath  the  cover  of  the  music,  Griscom 
made  her  a  confession.  It  was  just  after  the  old  lady, 
who  could  remember  Sophia  Valliant 's  glorious  girl- 
hood, had  finished  an  anecdote  of  its  greatness  with  a 
sigh,  and  had  added  that  she  was  afraid  these  nervous 
attacks  had  been  brought  on  by  the  first  hot-spell  of 
the  spring  atop  of  that  too  arduous  production  in  which 
Sophia  had  never  spared  herself,  that  Griscom  took 
what  he  felt  was  his  life  in  his  hands  and  confided  that 
though  he  had  never  seen  Miss  Valliant  act  he  had  al- 
ways doubted  her  genius. 

He  was  humbly  aware  of  the  fatuity  and  futility  of 
such  a  statement  and  he  was  prepared  for  the  eloquent 
silence  that  followed  it.  He  tried  to  explain  and  Mrs. 
Davitt  listened  to  him  with  the  thunderous  calm  of  one 
who  says,  ' '  God  give  me  patience. ' '  He  could  end  only 
by  apologizing;  now,  at  least,  he  said,  like  a  hero  of 
modern  romance,  he  had  travelled  four  thousand  miles 
to  see  her. 

Mrs.  Davitt  then  said,  "You  wouldn't  believe  me,  of 
course?  No,  very  likely,  I,  as  an  old  timer  come  under 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  259 

the  same  difficulty.  What!  Oh,  you've  seen  me  act! 
For  actors,  that's  it,  of  course — seeing  is  believing.  The 
million  men  who  have  seen  can't  convince  the  one  man 
who  came  late.  Well,  see  her.  She  will  convince  you. ' ' 

''But  if  she's  ill — not  in  good  form — I  dread  doing 
her  an  injustice — " 

"She's  not  ill.  The  hotel  people  exaggerated  that  to 
the  reporters  because  there  were  so  many  inquiries  and 
cables  from  celebrities  and  school-children  and  million- 
aires and  settlement-guides  and  foreign  courts,  it  made 
them  feel  like  the  center  of  the  civilized  world.  Sophy 
— you  don't  know  her  power." 

The  theatres  were  letting  out  and  as  the  restaurant's 
flower-scented  light  began  to  gloat  upon  pale  draperies 
and  immaculate  shirt-fronts  that  advanced  among  the 
tables,  here  and  there  Mrs.  Davitt  stopped  a  friend  or 
two  and  acquainted  them  with  Griscom's  heresy.  They 
all  stared  at  him  with  a  kind  of  polite  alarm  as  if  he 
had  been  an  illustrious  lunatic.  He  was  glad  when 
it  was  time  to  leave  the  restaurant.  They  stepped  out 
into  a  street  that  was  opposite  Miss  Valliant's  theatre 
and  that  was  jammed  with  the  carriages  and  motors  of 
her  audience.  "The  Water-Lily"  was  so  long  a  per- 
formance that  it  was  barely  over.  There  for  the  moment 
high  above  them  the  name  of  Sophia  Valliant  stamped 
the  sky  in  letters  of  flame ;  then  it  went  out. 

At  her  own  door,  "You  will  see  her,"  Mrs.  Davitt 
repeated.  "She  will  convince  you.  To-morrow  even- 
ing then." 

"To-morrow  evening." 

"It  all  depends  on  Miss  Valliant,  mamma." 


260  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Certainly.     If  she  wants  you  to  get  the  part  you'll 
get  it;  if  not,  you  won't." 

"She  must  know  they've  given  it  to  someone  else." 

"Well,  I  intend  to  ask  her  what  they  mean  by  it, 
anyhow." 

The  figures  of  Lucille  LeGrande  and  of  her  daughter 
Cecilia,  Cecilia  Rowan,  Miss  Valliant  's  understudy,  were 
becoming  almost  painfully  familiar  on  Broadway. 
Though  they  were  thus  branded  together,  it  was  the 
mother's  onslaught  for  Cecilia,  not  Cecilia's  for  herself, 
which  the  managers  dreaded.  Cecilia,  though  two-and 
twenty,  was  in  many  ways  a  great  baby ;  her  slenderness 
drooped  or  swayed  in  the  wind  of  her  mother's  vigor; 
she  had  a  lazy  roving  eye  and  in  the  mocking  drowsi- 
ness of  her  smile,  its  sensitive  and  exquisite  friendliness 
was  too  shy  for  careless  recognition;  the  loveliness  of 
her  face  was  never  remarked  or  reckoned  with,  and 
afterwards  people  at  large  remembered  that  they  had 
never  seemed  to  catch  her  eye;  it  was  as  if  they  had 
always  seen  her  veiled  and  this  veil  was  in  part  thrown 
round  her  by  the  passionate  absorption  with  which  her 
mother  hung  over  her,  guarding  her  alike  from  shadow 
and  from  sunshine.  In  less  words,  Cecilia  was  something 
of  a  negligible  quality.  Not  so  Lucille  LeGrande. 
That  lady  during  her  youth  had  played  leading  busi- 
ness with  her  first  husband,  a  star  whose  popularity  had 
been  so  great  that  at  his  death  his  fortune  was  found  to 
have  been  entirely  dissipated  by  his  convivial  relations 
with  the  world;  his  widow,  nothing  daunted,  put  forth 
in  "La  Belle  Russe,"  "East  Lynne"  and  "The  Clemen- 
ceau  Case."  Occasionally  funds  became  so  low  that  it 
was  necessary  to  save  a  salary  by  having  Cecilia  play 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  261 

Little  Willie,  but  it  was  such  a  point  of  pride  with  Miss 
Legrande  to  deny  this  that  sometimes  she  denied  it  to  Ce- 
cilia herself.  When  Cecilia  was  twelve  the  mother  began 
to  be  anxious  for  the  daughter 's  future  and  promptly  lost 
all  the  money  she  had  on  a  Broadway  venture.  Still 
undiscouraged  she  fell  in  love  with  Ned  Carey — a  wid- 
ower with  a  little  son — a  man  younger  than  herself,  in 
whom  she  believed  she  had  discovered  a  luminary  fated 
to  put  out  the  light  of  Edwin  Booth.  They  were  mar- 
ried, but  as  they  were  both  now  completely  poor  she 
was  never  able  to  get  his  light  from  under  its  bushel. 
If  he  was  a  genius  he  was  so  only  on  one-night-stands, 
where  nobody  ever  saw  him  and  whence  nobody  ever 
heard  of  him.  He  was  not  very  strong  and  he  was 
very  "intense";  and  whether  or  not  it  was  the  com- 
bination that  killed  him,  he  died  quite  unnoticed  some- 
where between  Manungachunk  and  Canaldover  when 
Cecilia  was  nineteen.  Miss  LeGrande  then  put  her  step- 
son, Teddy,  to  live  in  Cincinnati  with  her  elder  daugh- 
ter, a  grass-widow  with  two  babies,  all  largely  dependent 
on  Miss  Legrande  for  their  livelihood,  and  having  thus 
comfortably  arranged  a  somewhat  heterogeneous  family 
and  having  decided  that  Cecilia  had  been  "buried  long 
enough,"  took  up  that  young  lady  in  one  hand,  so  to 
speak,  and  carried  her  to  Broadway.  For  the  fortunes  of 
the  rest  of  the  family  having  thriven  there  so  well,  Ce- 
cilia was  also  upon  the  stage.  "If  once  she  can  get  her 
chance — ! ' '  the  mother  had  said.  That  was  three  years 
ago,  but  the  chance  had  not  come  yet;  Miss  LeGrande 
was  still  battling  in  her  daughter's  name  at  managerial 
doors.  At  first  she  had  supposed  that  many  a  hand 
would  be  held  out  to  Cecilia  for  her  father's  sake,  but 


262  MERELY  PLAYERS 

that  great  popularity  of  handsome  Jimmy  Rowan  had 
been  swallowed  in  the  quicksand  of  the  years;  Cecilia, 
as  far  as  any  claim  from  her  stage  ancestry  and  rearing 
were  concerned,  was  but  a  disinherited  child,  the  first 
"society"  woman  with  a  divorce  case,  the  first  show-girl 
with  a  letter  of  introduction  stepped  past  her  into  her 
hereditary  chance.  And  now  the  great  creatures  in 
their  offices,  dealing  out  fates  and  fortunes  with  Olym- 
pian nods,  began  to  dread  the  advent  of  mother  and 
daughter,  the  persistent  appeal,  the  hackneyed  reason- 
ings they  were  so  weary  of ;  according  to  the  good  man- 
ners that  the  last  few  years  have  brought  in,  they  did 
not  always  refuse  to  see  the  two  women,  but  they  were 
so  tired  of  them  that  they  would  not  have  given  Cecilia 
anything  if  they  had  had  it;  the  precedent  of  refusing 
her  had  become  legendary.  Not  indeed  that  employment 
had  been  wholly  lacking  during  these  years.  Miss 
LeGrande  had  no  longer  money  for  starring,  nor  pres- 
tige for  even  a  decent  engagement,  but  they  spent  the 
winters  in  repertoire  companies  in  one  of  which  Cecilia 
played  eleven  parts — including  an  evil  Russian  countess 
and  an  Irish  apple  woman  in  the  same  piece — and 
dressed  them  all  elaborately  for  twenty-five  dollars  a 
week;  there  were  certain  superior  dog-days  when  by 
playing  in  stock  twice  a  day  with  rehearsals  every  morn- 
ing, Sundays  included,  they  had  escaped  the  horrors  of 
a  penniless  summer  in  New  York;  there  was  even  one 
affluent  winter  when  Cecilia  played  the  lead  in  "No 
Wedding  Ring  For  Her."  But  every  spring  and  fall 
and  all  the  unoccupied  time  between  was  devoted  to  their 
hunt  after  the  Chance.  And  the  Chance  not  only  con- 
tinued unyielding  both  to  the  mother,  strident  and  ag- 


THE  CANDLE 'S  FLAME  263 

gressive  for  her  girl,  and  to  the  listless  girl  herself, 
but  became  more  remote  than  ever  as  they  grew  to  be 
more  and  more  marked  at  agencies  and  along  the  staring 
Rialto  blocks,  where  they  bore  all  the  terrible  parapher- 
nalia of  their  kind — the  plumed,  elaborate  heads,  the 
durable  smile,  the  careful  excessive  clothes,  seldom  quite 
fresh,  seldom  quite  "smart."  Miss  Legrande  had  never 
been  able  wholly  to  break  away  from  the  standards  of 
"La  Belle  Russe"  and  "Lady  Isabelle";  on  herself  it 
is  true  she  wasted  neither  cash  nor  time,  but  she  spent 
herself  on  silks  and  beads  and  feathers  for  Cecilia. 
Cecilia,  who  guessed  better,  did  not  protest.  She  cast 
sheep's  eyes  at  the  long  laces  and  the  silvery  furs  in  the 
shop  windows,  at  the  pale  crepes  and  the  fresh  lawns 
with  their  faintly  flushed  embroideries  and  yearned  for 
them  with  a  sickness  of  desire  that  no  one  dreamed  of. 
Failing  these,  makeshifts  were  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  her.  She  continued  to  choose  in  the  shop-windows — 
' '  If  I  had  a  good  engagement — ' '  and  sometimes  she  had 
quite  a  sense  of  disappointment  when  her  selections  dis- 
appeared before  she  had  bought  them.  But  Cecilia  was 
not  particularly  unhappy.  She  had  adored  her  brilliant 
young  stepfather,  and  he  had  made  a  world  for  her; 
she  still  lived  in  it,  took  her  pleasure  in  it  with  every 
drop  of -cool  water  when  she  was  thirsty,  with  every 
shimmer  of  colour  that  gladdened  her  patient  eyes.  The 
girl  had  an  infinite  capacity  for  joy,  and  Ned  had  known 
how  to  cultivate  it.  Then  too,  though  she  had  been 
kept  at  school  every  winter  while  he  was  alive,  in  the 
summers  he  had  taught  her  how  to  act.  He  had  taught 
her  Ophelia  when  she  was  thirteen.  For  months  at  a 
time  in  their  little  travelling  stock  her  mother  had  given 


264  MERELY  PLAYERS 

up  the  leading  parts  to  her;  she  had  hosts  of  beautiful 
women,  sisters  of  hers,  closed  in  her  heart,  and  she 
could  feel  their  breath  parting  her  lips,  longing  to  speak 
as  they  had  been  spoken  for  by  her  under  Ned's  eyes, 
and  these  women  were  not  only  Viola  and  Juliet  and 
Rosalind,  those  good,  great  ladies,  but  Carmen  and 
Paula  Tanqueray  and  the  Lady  with  the  Camelias.  It 
may  be  inferred  that  this  society  would  keep  Cecilia 
not  only  entertained,  but  busy;  in  the  material  world, 
however,  she  was  managed  by  her  mother  rather  like 
the  child  of  Stevenson's  observation  "towed  forward 
sideways  by  the  inexorable  nurse";  it  was  rather  hard 
on  the  nurse,  who  sometimes  felt  the  languid  child  heart- 
breakingly  heavy  on  her  hands.  For  you  must  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  on  Broadway  if  you  are  going  to  see 
your  Chance! 

To-day,  however,  they  were  not  on  Broadway,  but 
at  home  in  their  murky  little  furnished  flat.  Miss  Le- 
Grande  alone  was  going  out.  The  business  to-day  was 
extremely  disagreeable  and  Miss  LeGrande  gathered  all 
possible  disagreeables,  as  did  Arnold  Winkelreid  the 
bayonets,  into  her  own  breast;  thus  might  Cecilia  pass 
on  unscathed  to  conquest.  She  was  going  after  the 
Chance  which  had  been  quite  near,  but  which  now 
seemed  about  to  evade  them.  Although  Miss  LeGrande 
had  had  but  a  brief  engagement  that  winter,  Cecilia  was 
playing  a  little  part,  just  a  line  or  two,  with  the  great 
Miss  Valliant.  Miss  Valliant  had  given  it  to  her  after 
weeks  of  stalking  and  entreaties  and  in  place  of  an- 
other part,  still  small  but  fairly  conspicuous,  with  which 
she  had  closed  Miss  LeGrande 's  mouth  by  promising  it 
to  Cecilia  for  next  season.  Then  she  had  given  Cecilia 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  265 

the  understudy,  and,  when  she  had  been  ill,  Cecilia  had 
rehearsed  till  she  was  ready  to  drop,  in  the  hope  of  let- 
ting the  stage  manager  see  what  she  could  do,  of  prov- 
ing herself  worthy  of  next  year's  promotion.  And  then 
at  noon  to-day  Miss  LeGrande  had  read  in  The  Re- 
flector the  name  of  a  girl  who  was  engaged  for  next 
season  for  that  part!  Miss  Legrande  was  now  going  to 
urge  Miss  Valliant  to  keep  her  word  and  she  was  so 
anxious  to  look  prosperously  imposing  and  she  was  so 
shabby  on  account  of  Ned's  boy's  dentist's  bill,  that 
she  had  got  out  her  old  Clemenceau  Case  purple  broad- 
cloth cape,  expensively  embroidered  in  jet  and  brushed 
it  up ;  a  slight  odour  of  gasoline,  a  slight  glaze  of  serv- 
ice distinguished  it.  The  errand  was  a  nauseous  one 
and  Miss  LeGrande  quailed  before  it,  and  put  on  a 
little  rouge ;  when  it  is  considered  that  she  pushed  her- 
self forward  by  the  recollection  that  she  was  bearing  up 
the  rights  and  hopes  of  her  young  daughter,  all  the  com- 
ing days  of  the  children  in  Cincinnati,  neither  the  Mar- 
celle  wave  nor  the  picture  hat  borrowed  from  Cecilia 
nor  the  light  gloves  she  had  burst  out  of  are  wholly 
funny. 

"If  I  'm  later  than  a  quarter  of  five,"  she  said  to 
Cecilia,  "you'll  have  to  start  the  dinner.  I'm  sorry 
Malty  won't  be  here  to  show  you,  but  his  rehearsal  will 
keep  him  late.  I  don 't  know  but  it 's  better  in  a  way,  and 
don't  keep  asking  him  to  go  out  for  butter  and  drib- 
drabs  at  the  last  minute  as  you  did  yesterday,  Cissie. 
The  poor  fellow's  willing  enough,  but  when  he  isn't  any 
relation  and  when  he  can't  pay  a  cent  toward  his  food 
it  doesn  't  seem  quite  delicate.  You  can  make  some  fresh 
coffee  and  there's  a  little  rice  you  can  warm  over.  I 


266  MERELY  PLAYERS 

can't  trust  you  to  cook  a  potato.  It  isn't  much,  but 
we  have  got  a  good  steak  and  he'll  just  have  to  make 
out  with  it.  After  she's  seen  me  with  'em  on  I  shan't 
care — I'll  stop  and  put  up  my  earrings  on  the  way 
home  and  to-morrow  we'll  have  chicken.  Cecilia,  you're 
letting  your  head  hang  again!"  She  gave  Cecilia  the 
minutest  directions  about  the  steak  and  about  lighting 
the  gas-range,  but  Cecilia  never  seemed  able  to  grasp 
directions  about  concrete  things.  "Sometimes  she  looks 
quite  thick-headed!"  thought  the  poor  mother.  "Now 
you  do  your  voice  exercises  while  I'm  gone,"  she  said, 
"and  don't  forget — listen,  Cissie — don't  forget  to  hold 
your  head  up.  Cecilia,  listen  to  me !" 

Cecilia  supposed  herself  to  be  listening  as  hard  as  she 
could  and  she  was  going  so  far  as  to  dramatize  all  the 
outward  and  visible  signs  of  listening,  but  she  was  really 
wondering  whether  her  mother  would  get  her  the  part. 
She  did  not  believe  that  Dave  Engle  or  even  his  subor- 
dinate managers  cared  much  about  it,  one  way  or  the 
other.  ' '  It  all  depends  on  Miss  Valliant, ' '  she  told  her- 
self. 

When  Cecilia  was  alone,  she  went  back  into  the  little 
sitting-room  and  did  her  voice  exercises  conscientiously. 
But  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  them.  She  was  surpris- 
ingly unstrung  by  this  new  anxiety,  and  when  she  tried 
to  calm  herself  her  nerves  were  ravelled  without  her 
knowing  why,  by  the  useful,  workshop  disorder  of  the 
room;  books  and  plays,  newspapers  and  sewing  ma- 
terials and  trunks-in-eruption  were  everywhere.  Every- 
thing suggested  uncompleted  effort.  Miss  LeGrande  was 
cutting  over  her  old  black  brocade  and  spangling  the 
yoke  of  it  for  Cecilia.  It  was  a  little  shiny  even  without 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  267 

the  spangles;  Cecilia  looked  at  it  with  her  idle  smile — 
"And  the  desert  shall  blossom  like  the  rose,"  she  said 
softly.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  clear  anything  up; 
they  always  lived  in  this  surprising  litter.  "When  I 
get  a  good  engagement,"  she  told  herself,  "I'm  going 
to  have  lots  and  lots  of  room — "  They  had  no  room 
now,  only  a  presentable  address  and  a  telephone  for 
the  agents,  for  the  managers.  Cecilia  began  to  forget 
to  hold  her  head  up ;  she  was  not  very  strong  and  what 
hope  she  had  was  not  active;  her  head  did  not  hang 
exactly,  but  it  swayed  and  drooped  to  one  side  like  the 
head  of  a  tired  flower.  She  took  up  her  book — Maeter- 
linck 's  "The  Princess  Maleine. "  Cecilia  did  not  read 
so  much  for  the  literary  as  for  the  dramatic  effect.  She 
presented  every  scene  to  herself  as  she  went  along  and 
mentally  acted  the  characters  that  appealed  to  her,  in 
clear  detail  and  with  a  passion  that  wore  out  her  vitality 
because  it  was  smothered.  But  she  was  so  intently 
nervous  that  she  could  not  read  consecutively ;  she  tried 
a  magazine,  but  she  turned  the  pages  without  seeing 
anything.  The  suspense  was  dreadful. 

On  the  girl's  impressionable  nature  the  mystic  miser- 
ies of  the  doomed  young  princess  had  left  a  sense  of 
haunting  oppression;  she  had  now  no  confidence  in  her 
mother's  success,  and  failure  in  this  instance  seemed  like 
the  end  of  the  world.  Her  mother  had  said  that  Cecilia 
could  not  stay  with  ' '  The  Water-Lily ' '  on  the  road  next 
season  without  the  larger  salary  of  the  better  part;  she 
could  not  travel  on  the  salary  she  was  getting  now. 
And  Cecilia  was  in  love  with  "The  Water-Lily";  she 
was  content  to  serve  the  play,  however  humbly,  and  the 
little  worn  volume  in  the  original  French,  which  she 


268  MERELY  PLAYERS 

had  bought  long  before  even  Miss  Valliant  played  the 
translation,  she  still  handled  with  as  devout  a  touch 
as  that  of  any  musician  for  his  violin.  But  in  all  this 
devout  humility  she  was  extremely  jealous,  considering 
the  play  as  at  once  her  highest  altar  and  her  private 
property;  she  was  jealous  of  other  people's  connection 
with  it,  of  their  chatter  about  it,  and  their  opinions 
which  they  did  not  recognize  her  authority  to  mould; 
people,  indeed,  with  the  effrontery  to  pretend  that  they 
understood  it  as  well  as  she  did!  Even  for  the  per- 
formances of  the  great  Sophia  she  cherished  a  senti- 
ment like  that  of  a  slighted  mistress — this  other  woman 
was  superior  in  every  way,  but,  Oh!  she  could  not 
love  so  much!  When  Cecilia  had  finally  got  her  little 
foothold  in  the  production  she  had  felt  as  if  it  were  a 
crucial  thing;  to  leave  it  and  New  York  now  without 
having  accomplished  anything,  taken  one  step  higher 
in  her  profession,  seemed  like  a  definite  abandonment  of 
hope,  a  final  resignation  to  a  life  of  what  Malty  called 
"back  to  the  woods." 

Cecilia  shivered.  She  got  up  and  began  to  drift  rest- 
lessly about.  At  the  dining-room  window  which  looked 
into  a  court  no  bigger  than  an  air-shaft  she  stopped 
and  looked  aimlessly  down.  In  doing  so  she  caught  the 
eye  of  a  lean  black  cat  which  came  there  every  day  to 
have  dinner  thrown  to  it;  the  cat  immediately  opened 
its  mouth  at  her,  devouringly,  but  without  a  sound,  as  if 
its  impatience  was  beyond  speech.  Cecilia  went  into  the 
kitchen,  but  she  could  find  nothing  except  the  cold  rice ; 
she  did  not  think  the  cat  would  value  that.  She  longed 
to  cut  a  strip  off  the  raw  steak,  but  she  was  afraid 
that  would  look  rather  slighting  to  Malty.  There 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  269 

would  be  plenty  after  dinner  and  certainly  the  cat's 
arrival  was  premature.  Its  pantomime,  however,  was 
peremptory  and  Cecilia  did  not  feel  equal  to  reasoning 
with  it.  She  decided  to  keep  away  from  the  window. 
She  said  to  herself,  "If  I  had  a  good  engagement  I'd 
pay  that  cat's  board  out  at  that  nice  veterinary 's  in  the 
country,  where  Miss  Fiskins  boards  Augustus,  until  I 
bought  that  place  up  the  river  for  Gertie  and  the  chil- 
dren, and  then  it  could  go  to  live  with  them."  She 
had  said  this  every  day  since  the  cat  began  to  come. 
Cecilia,  however  physically  frail,  was  extraordinarily 
tenacious  in  her  ideas. 

Just  before  she  left  the  kitchen  there  was  a  crash 
overhead,  where  the  Cass  family  was  living  rent  free 
in  the  flat  of  an  absent  and  philanthropic  actress,  and 
then  came  a  child's  windy  howl.  ''Gladys  has  broken 
something  again  and  her  mother  has  slapped  her," 
thought  Cecilia.  "Gladys  seems  to  have  all  the  troubles 
of  a  stage-child  and  a  home-child  combined."  She  did 
not  altogether  blame  Mrs.  Cass,  the  woman  was  young 
and  poor  and  pretty,  ignorant  and  quick-tempered  and 
incompetent;  her  only  idea  seemed  to  be  to  dress  up 
to  please  her  husband.  "But  she  isn't  fit  to  take  care 
of  Gladys, ' '  said  Cecilia  to  herself.  Gladys  was  getting 
even  fresher  than  most  stage-children  on  account  of 
this  rasping  home-life.  Cecilia,  forgetful  of  her  own 
youth  and  Little  Willie,  thought  with  the  queer  pride 
of  theatrical  elders,  that  she  and  her  mother  and  Gertie 
had  always  managed  to  keep  the  children  off  the  stage. 
Oh,  some  way  or  another  they  must  manage  to  send 
Teddy  to  college!  When  people  asked  Miss  LeGrande 
if  she  meant  him  to  go  on  the  stage  she  always  shook 


270  MERELY  PLAYERS 

her  head  ominously.  "It  killed  his  father!"  Cecilia 
would  have  liked  him  to  go  on  for  that  very  reason  and 
trample  upon  the  heads  of  the  profession,  but  she  wanted 
him  to  go  to  college  first.  "When  I  get  a  good  engage- 
ment"— she  promised  herself.  A  phonograph  across  the 
court  twanged  forth  with  "Oh,  mother,  mother,  mother, 
pin  a  rose  on  me,"  and  Cecilia  fled  from  it  to  the  sit- 
ting-room. 

On  her  entrance  a  large  photograph  of  Sophia  Valliant 
fell  to  the  ground.  Cecilia  picked  it  up  and  looked  at 
it,  grudgingly  enchained  by  the  extraordinarily  arrestive, 
magnetic  despotism  of  the  face.  She  glanced  from  it  to 
a  copy  of  the  same  picture  which  formed  the  cover  of 
the  theatrical  magazine  she  had  been  looking  at.  The 
latter  version  was  all  glare,  the  magnificent  costume 
flaming  in  crude  colours,  but  the  face  still  compelled. 
Cecilia,  who  had  long  worshiped  that  expression,  strug- 
gled to  rebel.  Was  she  a  little  tired  of  it?  No,  she 
could  have  watched  Miss  Valliant  act  forever,  but  per- 
haps she  was  a  little  tired  of  encountering  her  in  cata- 
logues and  advertisements,  standing  for  a  silk-velvet 
or  a  hair  tonic,  in  the  great  monthlies  pouring  out 
reminiscences,  in  the  mouths  of  shop-girls  and  of  for- 
eign celebrities  being  interviewed.  Yesterday's  evening 
paper  had  blown  to  the  floor  along  with  the  photograph ; 
it  was  open  at  a  cut  of  Miss  Valliant  and  when  Cecilia 
flounced  it  over  it  was  only  to  encounter  an  anecdote  of 
Miss  Valliant 's  dog;  in  that  fashion  magazine  by  which 
Cecilia's  mother  was  trying  to  remodel  their  wardrobe, 
Miss  Valliant  had  an  article  giving  advice  to  stage- 
aspirants.  Cecilia  started  up  and  began  to  walk  to  and 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  271 

fro — Oh !  when  would  her  mother  come  and  tell  her  what 
Miss  Valliant  had  decided?  For  here  was  the  nip,  the 
oppression  which  Cecilia  was  experiencing  to-day,  the 
source  of  her  rebellion  against  her  star,  that  the  star 
held  Cecilia's  life  in  her  hand.  If  a  tiger  was  advanc- 
ing upon  you  through  the  jungle  it  would  be  beautiful, 
wonderful,  perfect,  but  your  feeling  would  not  be  un- 
resenting  admiration.  Will  it  strike,  or  will  it  pass? 
— that  is  all.  Cecilia's  soft  hair  clung  to  a  forehead 
that  was  damp  with  unhealthy  excitement.  Only  yes- 
terday when  she  had  read  that  review  comparing  with 
Miss  Valliant  to  their  disadvantage  all  the  great  ac- 
tresses of  the  past,  Cecilia  had  not  contended  against 
a  single  blast  of  praise,  but  now  she  felt  as  if  she  must 
set  up  some  other  champion,  someone  to  keep  Miss  Val- 
liant from  usurping  everything,  or  there  would  be  no 
room  for  anyone  else  to  stand,  to  breathe.  Yet  Miss 
Valliant  was  the  only  truly  great  person  she  had  ever 
seen — except  one,  Ned  Carey,  Cecilia 's  stepfather !  Yes, 
he  and  Miss  Valliant,  they  alone  were  equals.  "And 
to  think  I  can't  prove  it!"  said  Cecilia.  For  she  at 
least  had  seen  him  and  knew,  and  though  she  stood  be- 
tween those  two  clear  lights  of  genius  with  her  own 
flame  not  yet  burning,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  judge  them 
equal  and  wholly  great,  the  one  old  and  heaped  with 
honor,  and  the  other  without  honor  and  young — and 
dead.  Well,  then,  she  was  not  between  two  lights  after 
all,  only  a  light  and  a  darkness — Ned's  flame  had  gone 
out  with  his  breath.  For  where  was  the  work,  the  monu- 
ment, that  he  like  other  artists  had  left  behind,  his  book 
or  picture,  statue  or  bridge  or  song?  "I  can't  prove 


272  MERELY  PLAYERS 

him,"  Cecilia  repeated,  "no  one  can.  Nothing  can." 
And  she  turned  spiritlessly  to  answer  a  sharp  and  spas- 
modic ring  at  the  upstairs  door. 

On  the  threshold  she  found  a  small  figure,  lanky,  in 
a  soiled  white  dress  that  was  too  short  for  it;  an  enor- 
mous bow  of  washed-out  blue  ribbon  straddled  in  the 
tow-coloured  thinness  of  its  hair.  "Oh,  Miss  Rowan," 
it  said  in  a  tin-pipy  wizened  kind  of  voice,  "can  I 
come  in  and  sit  in  your  kitchen  for  a  while  and  listen  to 
the  phonograph?  It  don't  sound  so  plain  upstairs." 

Cecilia  flung  the  door  open  and  made  her  a  great 
bow.  ' '  Enter  Gladiola, ' '  she  said,  ' '  the  house  is  yours ; 
the  furnished  flat  is  yours,  0  Lady  Gladys."  But  she 
could  not  make  Gladys  play. 

In  the  kitchen  she  supplied  the  guest  with  a  chair 
and  a  glass  of  milk,  and  that  young  lady  as  she  sat  down 
spread  her  limp  skirts  with  quite  an  air.  Over  the  edge 
of  the  glass  she  said  in  the  tone  of  polite  conversation  in 
the  making,  "Business  keeps  up  something  wonderful, 
don 'tit?" 

"Yes,  Gladys." 

"I  hear  you're  turning  'em  away." 

"So  we  are,  Gladdy." 

"Well,  I  wish  I  could  play  in  a  first-class  show  for 
once!" 

Cecilia  was  endeavoring  to  sustain  conversation  at  this 
altitude  when  the  nasal  ping  of  the  phonograph  droned 
forth  into  the  Miserere.  "That's  a  cute  tune!"  cried 
Gladys,  her  eyes  brightening.  Cecilia  escaped  and  left 
her  to  its  cuteness. 

But  the  little  sitting-room  seemed  to  meet  and  close 
in  upon  her  with  a  cage  of  fears  and  hopes.  Cecilia 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  273 

pacing  that  cage  felt  at  last  in  her  sweet  blood  the  sting 
of  that  fierce  fighting  greed  which  had  hardened  her 
mother's  face  these  many  fugitive  lean  years.  She  must 
have  that  part,  she  must  get  on,  she  couldn't  fall  back! 
Cecilia  knew  how  rapidly  her  youth  was  slipping  through 
her  fingers  and  that  she  was  not  able  to  seize  one  year 
of  it  for  happy  profit.  And  was  it  to  be  the  same  in- 
terminably, forever,  with  those  coming  after,  whom  she 
loved  and  whose  road  she  ought  to  have  made  smooth? 
— Gertie's  babies  and  Ned's  boy  and  those  years  of  her 
mother's  life  which  that  mother  was  straining  to  meet. 
She  looked  at  the  clock.  Oh,  her  mother  must  be  with 
Miss  Valliant  now,  the  great  personage  must  be  pro- 
nouncing judgment — Cecilia  could  have  screamed.  The 
charming,  cool  current  of  her  whimsical  spirit  was  turn- 
ing hot  and  dry  with  rebellion,  with  desire.  She  scarcely 
knew  what  she  answered  when  Gladys  called  to  her, 
"How  does  Mr.  Maltham  like  his  job?"  Nevertheless 
this  turned  her  thoughts  toward  Malty.  If  only  he 
would  come  in  and  talk  to  her!  Dear  Malty,  dear  old 
Malty!  He  was  not  yet  thirty,  but  Cecilia  always 
thought  of  him  in  this  sober  light.  She  considered  him 
rather  conventional,  perhaps  that  was  why.  Last  year 
when  she  was  ill  and  her  mother  was  out  of  town  and 
Malty  and  two  other  boys  had  nursed  her  and  cooked 
for  her  and  kept  house  for  her,  that  sweet  Malty  was 
such  an  old  fuss  that  he  had  paid  his  own  money  to 
the  janitress  to  come  up  and  stay  all  night  with  them 
in  the  flat — now  wasn't  that  ridiculous?  Yet  Cecilia, 
rather  patronizingly,  loved  him  for  it.  She  hated  his 
having  work  so  far  beneath  him  as  this  spring  engage- 
ment in  "The  Diamond  King";  he  was  such  a  good 
18 


274  MERELY  PLAYERS 

actor,  but  he  had  been  out  of  work  all  winter  and  was 
frightfully  in  debt.  If  Cecilia  only  had  a  good  engage- 
ment where  she  could  meet  people  of  influence  and  in- 
troduce him  a  little — just  one  little  push,  with  his  ap- 
pearance and  ability,  would  make  his  way  for  him  so 
easily!  Cecilia  was  afraid  that  if  he  kept  on  in  these 
howling  melodramas  he  would  lose  in  art,  he  would  for- 
get how  to  act,  the  spirit  would  go  out  of  him.  She 
knew  that  was  what  had  happened  to  her  mother  who  had 
been  kept  out  of  New  York  and  dealing  in  cheap  ma- 
terial until  her  method  of  handling"  that  material  had 
become  one  with  it.  Ned  Carey  had  come  too  late  for 
her,  her  true  little  flame  had  gone  out.  And  suddenly 
that  drooping  head  of  Cecilia's  lifted  and  stiffened  like 
a  snake 's,  she  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth.  Gone  out, 
extinguished,  not  the  mere  success,  but  the  real  thing, 
the  actual  acting  fire! — was  this  what  was  to  happen 
to  her,  too?  She  swung  to  the  right  about  on  her  heel 
and  made  for  human  society  in  the  kitchen. 

"It  don't  generally  work  in  the  daytime,"  said 
Gladys,  pripking  an  ear  at  the  phonograph.  Once  more 
she  spread  her  skirts.  "I  dressed  up  myself.  Papa's 
loaded  again  and  mamma's  locked  herself  in  the  bed- 
room to  spite  him.  Much  he  cares!"  Cecilia  was  get- 
ting the  steak  out  of  the  ice-box  and  the  child  looked  at 
it.  "I  didn't  have  any  lunch,"  she  said;  "mamma  was 
to  the  dressmaker's  then;  psha!  when  I  grow  up,  I'm 
not  going  to  marry  any  piano-tuner  like  him.  I  'd  sooner 
marry  an  actor,  they're  away  most  o'  the  time  any 
way.  I'd  just  as  leaves  stay  to  dinner." 

"I  meant  to  write  you  an  invitation,"  said  Cecilia, 
"but  my  pink  paper's  all  gone.  Let's  just  shake 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  275 

hands  on  it."    She  took  and  pressed  the  dirty  little 
paw. 

"You're  kind  o'  dumpy,  to-day,  ain't  you?"  in- 
quired the  guest,  still  holding  the  hand  of  her  hostess 
and  regarding  her  gravely.  "I  think  you're  terribly 
pretty.  I  don't  know  why  managers  don't  think  so. 
Or  some  fellar.  If  your  little  niece  was  on  here,  I'd  be 
awful  nice  to  her.  I'd  take  her  to  all  the  shows.  I 
take  mamma  now,  she  signs  my  name  for  passes.  Tour 
little  niece  ain't  on  the  stage,  is  she?" 

"No,"  said  Cecilia,  clutching  at  a  noncommittal 
courtesy  of  tone. 

Gladys  looked  at  her  sharply,  "I  don't  see  but  what 
I'm  just  as  well  off  on  the  stage  as  I  am  at  home,"  she 
volunteered.  "Say,  did  you  know  maybe  my  aunt  was 
going  to  be  wardrobe-woman  with  your  company  ?  Yes, 
the  extras  are  so  fresh  with  their  costumes,  this  one  can 't 
manage  'um  at  all.  You  bet  my  aunt '11  manage  'um, 
all  right.  When  I'm  acting  with  her  I  lay  abed  late 
and  she  brings  me  up  my  breakfast,  an'  I  have  to  take 
naps  an'  walks  and  do  lessons.  Sometimes  I  kind  o' 
like  it.  Sometimes  when  you're  on  one-night-stands  an' 
there's  just  a  woman  to  look  after  the  children,  and 
you  know  she  don't  give  a  cent  for  you,  sometimes  it's 
kind  o'  fierce.  Say,  I  wish  I  could  get  that  little  boy's 
part  in  your  company  along  with  her  an' — you." 

"Oh,  honey-bunch,  I  wish  you  could.  Isn't  Bessie 
going  to  stay?" 

"Not  next  season.  She's  getting  too  big,  she's  got  to 
go  to  school.  I'm  near  nine  myself,  but  I'm  small  for 
my  age.  I  can  play  little  boys  a  long  while  yet.  When 
I  grow  up  I'm  going  to  play  'Zaza.'  They  say  stage- 


276  MERELY  PLAYERS 

children  never  grow  up  to  be  anything,  it's  all  squeezed 
out  of  them  when  they're  little,  but — here,  let  me  show 
you."  Cecilia  had  given  a  little  nervous  squeal  at  the 
puff  of  the  gas-range  and  Gladys  capably  arose  and 
lighted  it  for  her. 

"Gladdy,"  said  Cecilia,  when  the  steak  was  on  the 
broiler,  "when  I  get  a  good  engagement  I'm  going  to 
have  a  place  in  the  country — I'm  going  to  rent  it  right 
away,  first,  and  then  buy  it  and  build  and  I'm  going 
to  have  my  brother  and  my  sister  and  her  children  there 
to  live,  and  I  want  you  to  come  and  spend  a  whole  sum- 
mer with  them.  Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gladys  with  flat  and  alarming  prompti- 
tude. "When  you  going  to  have  it?" 

"Oh — oh,  I  don't  know!  When  I  get  a  good  en- 
gagement." 

"Oh — say,  before  then,  you  couldn't  say  a  word  for 
me  about  that  part  to  Mr.  Engle,  could  you?" 

"No,  dear,"  said  Cecilia  sadly,  "I  never  even  see  Mr. 
Engle,  you  know." 

"No,  I  know.  I  told  mamma  so.  But  people  that 
ain't  in  the  business,  you  know,  you  can't  make  'um 
understand.  Do  you  like  your  steak  rare?" 

"Yes,  but  we  have  to  have  it  well  done  for  Mr.  Mal- 
tham." 

They  set  the  table  and  Cecilia  put  on  the  water  for 
the  coffee  and  got  the  rice  ready  to  warm.  "You'd  bet- 
ter turn  that  steak, ' '  said  the  guest. 

As  Cecilia  obeyed  her,  the  cat  in  the  court-yard  sent 
up  a  fervid  summons.  "Oh,  dear!'9  said  Cecilia,  "I'm 
nervous  enough  about  getting  dinner,  what  shall  I  do 
about  that  cat!" 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  277 

Gladys  looked  out  of  the  window,  " Couldn't  you  lower 
her  some  milk  in  a  bottle  ? ' ' 

On  a  second  appeal  it  was  decided  that  Gladys  should 
carry  down  the  milk,  bearding  the  janitress.  Then  it 
was  discovered  that  Cecilia  had  given  her  the  last  drop 
and  that  she  had  drunk  it.  There  was  a  guilty  pause. 
Then  Cecilia  flew  in  the  face  of  Providence  and  brought 
forth  a  half -bottle  of  cream.  "I  daren't  take  any  off 
the  steak,"  she  said,  "but  I  just  will  off  the  cream.  He 
can't  possibly  notice  that  if  I  serve  the  rest  in  a  pitcher. 
Here,  you  won't  spill  any  out  of  this."  She  poured 
a  part  of  the  cream  into  a  kind  of  silver  cuspidore  that 
was  meant  for  a  butter  dish  and  engraved  with  the 
names  of  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  Charlotte  Cushman  and 
so  on — a  souvenir  of  an  Actor 's  Fund  Fair.  Gladys  took 
it  and  departed.  Cecilia  measured  out  the  coffee.  Her 
mother,  oh,  her  mother ! — what  news  was  she  bringing  ? ' ' 

Presently  Malty  came.  He  looked  very  pale,  but  be- 
tween the  future  and  the  cat  Cecilia  was  too  wrought 
up  to  notice  it.  He  was  scarcely  seated  before  she  be- 
gan confiding  in  him.  ' '  I  just  can 't  stand  it  any  longer. 
After  dinner,  when  there's  some  steak,  I'm  going  down 
and  get  it,  and  it 's  going  to  live  right  here.  If  I  have  to 
leave  town  before  I  can  get  money  to  pay  its  board, 
why,  it'll  just  have  to  be  chloroformed,  that's  all.  If 
only  mamma  would  get  home  and  tell  me,  but  that's 
always  the  way.  I  never  know  anything  and  she  doesn  't 
come,  it's  simply — Malty,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I've  lost  my  job,  that's  all.  Fired.  I  didn't  have 
ginger  enough  for  them. ' '  He  dropped  his  head  on  his 
clinched  fists  and  if  he  did  not  sob  it  was  because  he 
was  really  a  dear  fellow.  Cecilia  put  her  hand  blindly 


278  MERELY  PLAYERS 

on  his  shoulder  and  gave  him  a  little  twitching  shake. 
But  she  was  powerless.  And  whatever  would  become 
of  him  now?  She  could  not  follow  his  secret  bitter- 
ness, that  he  had  just  been  going  to  touch  the  manage- 
ment for  twenty-five  and  take  the  two  ladies  to  supper 
at  Rector's!  They  would  never  know  that  now — Malty 
was  no  braggart.  He  felt  Cecilia  stiffen  with  excite- 
ment at  the  sound  of  Miss  LeGrande 's  key  in  the  door. 

Miss  LeGrande  came  slowly  and  heavily  into  the  room. 
Her  face  was  dark  with  pain  and  she  turned  stony  eyes 
upon  her  daughter.  "Who  did  you  think  you  were," 
said  she,  "that  a  star  should  keep  her  word  to  you?" 

Cecilia  opened  her  lips  and  closed  them  again  with- 
out speaking.  Malty  asked,  "What  did  she  say?" 

"Say!  I  didn't  even  see  her.  She'd  gone  motoring. 
Her  secretary  knew  nothing  about  it.  But  who  do  you 
think  this  girl  is  that's  announced  to  play  the  part? 
Miss  Valliant's  cousin!" 

They  said  nothing  more,  there  was  nothing  to  say. 
The  floor  heaved  a  little  under  Cecilia's  eyes  and  then 
settled  again  to  the  deadly  flatness  of  every  day.  Light 
as  is  the  step  with  which  hope  leaves  us,  it  shakes  our 
house  to  its  foundations.  And  Cecilia  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  acknowledge  a  fact;  there  wasn't  room  enough, 
Miss  Valliant  filled  all  space,  the  world  was  hers  and 
it  was  filled  by  her  and  hers  completely. 

Gladys  rang  and  Malty  let  her  in.  "I  waited  for  the 
saucer — "  said  the  guest.  "Gee,  your  steak's  burnt!" 

Miss  LeGrande  cast  one  glance  at  Cecilia  and  fled  for 
the  kitchen.  The  worst  was  true.  Now  indeed  might 
Cecilia  hang  her  head.  The  steak  was  no  longer  even 
a  burned  steak,  the  fierce  fire  to  which  Cecilia  had  ex- 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  279 

posed  it,  had  annihilated  it.  No  one  reproached  her,  but 
it  was  the  last  straw,  the  unbearable.  She  covered  her 
shamed  face  and  wept.  Even  Malty  was  too  crushed 
to  comfort  her.  Her  mother  made  the  coffee  and  they 
sat  down  to  that  and  the  warmed  rice  in  silence.  It 
was  time  to  light  the  gas,  but  no  one  lighted  it.  Miss 
LeGrande's  face  did  not  relax.  Cecilia  continued  to 
drip  tears  into  her  plate;  she  lifted  her  rice  bravely 
to  her  mouth  but  she  could  not  swallow  it.  The  phono- 
graph, a  chronic  bromide,  contributed,  "There  was  I 
a  waiting  at  the  Church."  Again  the  cheated  and  cer- 
tainly exacting  cat  lifted  up  its  voice  and  in  that  sound 
Cecilia  heard  the  lament  of  all  the  creatures  whom  she 
had  failed,  whom  she  had  disappointed,  whom  she  had 
presumed  to  think  of  helping  and  whom  she  had  robbed 
of  food.  The  voice  of  her  own  life  was  not  lacking  in 
the  cry.  The  janitress  rang  the  telephone  and  called  up 
a  complaint  of  Gladys,  but  the  second  time  Malty  an- 
swered it  he  said,  "It's  somebody  for  you,  Cis." 

Cecilia  took  up  the  receiver  and  sniffled  into  the  phone. 
"Hello,  yes,"  they  heard  her  say;  "yes,  it  is.  "Well. 
Yes.  I  understand.  Certainly.  All  right."  She  hung 
up  the  receiver  and  turned  round  upon  them,  dead- 
white  in  the  glooming  dusk;  her  teeth  knocked  against 
each  other  as  she  paused,  but  the  trained  voice  did  not 
shake.  "Miss  Valliant's  got  another  attack,"  she  told 
them,  "  I  've  got  to  play  the  part  to-night. ' ' 

Long  afterwards  Griscom  remembered  the  horrible 
sick  surge  of  disappointment,  thrilled,  nevertheless,  by 
that  strange  sense  of  fate,  with  which  he  heard  the 
stage-manager's  announcement.  But  longer  afterwards 


280  MERELY  PLAYERS 

still  there  was  something  he  would  remember  a  thou- 
sandfold, and  that  was  the  moment  when  there  came 
forward  before  Sophia  Valliant's  audience,  the  woman 
in  her  place:  a  woman  as  tall  as  she,  slender  like  her, 
but  how  much  younger  and  of  a  how  much  more  inno- 
cent and  tender  beauty !  She  lifted  a  voice  remote  and 
cool,  she  stood — with  slightly  drooping  head — among  the 
pale  lights  and  greeneries  of  the  scenic  woodland  like — 
like  a  water-lily,  Griscom  thought,  where  Sophia  Val- 
liant's vitality  must  have  burned  like  a  sun-flower.  She 
wore  Miss  Valliant's  famous  gown,  straight  and  soft 
from  the  shoulders,  but  massy  like  flexible  armour,  with 
green  embroideries  and  clustered  jewels.  About  her 
breast  and  neck  her  hair  lay  thick  and  was  all  caught 
with  pearls  and  trembling  emeralds,  and  as  she  moved, 
these  and  the  palely  gleaming  pendants  of  her  gown 
clashed  in  a  faint  clear  noise  like  the  tinkle  of  drop- 
ping water.  The  audience,  happily  startled,  leaned  for- 
ward to  make  sure  who  this  might  be.  Thus  did  Cecilia 
come  into  her  own. 

It  was  the  night  when  that  famous  Frenchman,  the 
author,  was  in  front.  After  the  third  act  while  the  great 
management  hustled  about  getting  out  statements  for  the 
newspapers  in  which  it  knocked  a  couple  of  years  off 
Cecilia's  age  and  referred  picturesquely,  but  with  the 
most  dramatic  delicate  restraint  to  the  obscurity  from 
which  Cinderella  sprang,  the  audience  demanded  the  au- 
thor and  then  again  they  demanded  someone  else. 
Whereupon  the  author,  in  a  generously  smiling  pomp,  led 
out  Cecilia,  tremulous,  but  flower-sweet  and  proud  and 
startled  like  a  deer.  The  house  rose  at  her,  a  great  adoring 
wave  that  longed  to  hold  and  realize  her,  to  catch  her 


THE  CANDLE'S  FLAME  281 

down  into  itself.  Cecilia  swayed  like  a  reed  to  the  breath 
of  that  tumult.  It  broke  upon  her  in  a  rain  of  blossoms, 
the  women  in  the  boxes  cast  her  those  they  carried,  those 
they  wore,  the  men  who  had  bought  out  the  neighbor- 
ing florists  since  they  saw  her,  flung  her  great  odorous 
sheaves.  There  was  no  veil  about  Cecilia  now,  she  shown 
there  all  light  and  bloom,  with  a  thousand  gleams  and 
airy  shadows  breaking  and  blending  about  her  brows; 
knee-deep  in  a  foam  of  flowers,  she  came  at  last  face 
to  face  with  the  world  and  they  regarded  each  other 
with  a  magnificent  friendliness. — Droop  your  head  now 
if  you  will,  0  Cecilia,  and  there  shall  be  none  to  say 
you  nay ;  they  will  photograph  that  droop  as  the  crown 
of  art,  grand  ladies  shall  try  to  imitate  it!  Spill,  if 
you  like,  out  of  the  chalice  of  your  potent  little  hands, 
wealth  and  ease  for  your  household  with  green  fields 
for  its  children — yes,  and  for  the  piano-tuner's  child — 
help  and  recognition  for  your  poor  friends  who  are 
artists,  cream  and  catnip  and  planked  shad  if  necessary 
for  the  lean  cat  in  the  courtyard,  blessings  and  refresh- 
ment out  of  a  golden  horn !  Give  and  enjoy,  you  have 
a  right  to,  for  there  is  plenty;  it  is  a  strange  word  to 
you,  but  it  speaks  true — there  is  plenty — plenty!  And 
do  you,  at  last,  unrivalled,  unquestioned,  as  one  having 
authority,  hold  commune  with  and  interpret  your  own 
" Water-Lily,"  the  lady  of  your  heart! 

An  usher  brought  the  note  of  a  spectacularly-minded 
friend  to  Mrs.  Davitt's  box.  She  read  it  and  leaning 
to  Griscom  touched  his  arm.  "Sophia  Valliant  is 
dead!"  she  said.  "What?  How  did  you  hear?  How 
sad!"  His  eyes  were  shining  and  his  throat  was  dry, 
for  he  could  be  an  enthusiast,  and  he  glanced  back 


282  MERELY  PLAYERS 

eagerly  to  the  stage.  Mrs.  Davitt  addressed  him  no 
more.  She  looked  at  the  crazy  audience  that  had  been 
Sophia  Valliant's;  it  was  greedy  for  Cecilia  and  for 
Cecilia  only,  and  her  old  face  settled  into  harsh  lines. 
When  the  performance  was  over  they  stood  waiting  for 
their  cab  where  the  name  of  Sophia  Valliant  lighted 
that  night  for  the  last  time  still  blazed  a  little  moment 
above  their  heads.  "That  girl!"  said  the  old  woman 
lialf  aloud.  "A  sweet  girl!  A  most  lovely  actress !  So 
young — I  wonder  who  taught  her  ?  But  Sophia  Valliant 
was  a  genius.  She  was  as  far  above  this  child  as  the 
sky  is." 

Griscom  heard  her  and  turned  on  her  with  a  hard 
little  flash.    " Prove  it!"  said  the  critic. 


THE  PROFESSIONALS 


(  Still  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 
On  blow  brought  home  or  missed 
Still  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 
The  clarion  down  the  list, 
Still  set  my  lance  above  mischance 
And  ride  the  barriere: 
Or  hit  or  miss,  how  little  'tis  — !  " 


THE  PROFESSIONALS 

IT  was  a  Saturday  at  Alderson's.  The  great  pleas- 
ure gardens  in  those  long  days  of  summer  seemed 
like  the  playground  of  the  whole  west;  the  holiday 
crowds  were  pouring  there  now,  out  from  the  vigorous 
city  whose  youth  is  never  tamed  by  summer  heat,  by 
the  months  that  are  only  fresh  and  golden  in  that  high 
country.  To  reach  Alderson  's  the  trolleys  shot  for  more 
than  three  miles  over  the  brilliant  meadows,  crossed  the 
shallow,  shining  river  and  brought  up  with  something 
of  a  grand-stand  bump  almost  on  the  mountain's  slope. 
A  man  toiling  in  their  wake  looked  after  them  wistfully ; 
then  he  stared  out  over  the  fields  upon  fields  of  wild 
white  poppies  that  danced  in  their  dreams,  nodding  to 
the  breeze  and  shimmering  to  the  sun.  Here  and  there 
was  the  gold  of  the  dwarf  sunflower ;  here  and  there  the 
blue  of  that  great  headed  blossom  which  later  would 
cover  the  land  with  royal  glory.  There  was  not  much 
woodland,  but  the  birds,  that  were  everywhere,  made 
what  they  could  of  the  low  copses  and  the  cottonwoods, 
and  the  whole  morning  rocked  with  their  melody;  this 
would  be  followed  by  solemn  happy  silences  broken  in 
their  turn  by  flitting  trolleys  with  their  calling,  laugh- 
ing burdens.  A  hundred  sun-steeped  odours  of  growth, 
of  fertility,  of  an  abundance  giving  itself  lightly  to  the 
wilderness,  streamed  mingling  together  in  the  fresh, 
warm  air.  The  man  had  come  out  from  the  rich  mar- 

285 


286  MERELY  PLAYERS 

kets  of  the  town,  he  had  passed  vegetable  gardens  where 
the  thick,  mammoth  leaves  seemed  ready  to  burst  with 
their  own  fulness;  the  bloom  had  fallen  from  the  sur- 
rounding orchards  but  their  fruit  waxed  heavier  with 
every  noon  and  before  him,  as  he  knew,  the  gardens  of  the 
pleasure-seekers  were  one  sweet  bewilderment  of  flowers. 
In  that  wholesome  and  romantic  air  there  was  some- 
thing indescribably  vigorous  and  pure  and  fortunate, 
like  a  good  wind.  For  this  was  the  very  land  of  milk 
and  honey,  of  plenty  and  youth  and  gold — even  the  dust 
was  gold,  warm  too,  and  fragrant  and  clean  like  the  full 
summer,  and  where  it  dispersed  lightly  about  the  man's 
old  shoes  and  rested  on  his  worn  cheap  clothes  and 
stained  and  colored  the  grim  pallour  of  his  face,  it  was 
like  a  shining,  fairy  essence,  as  if  the  spicy,  winey  air 
of  that  keen  climate  springing  so  sharp  at  every  dawn 
and  warmed  through  by  how  many  thousand  suns  had 
been  dried  into  some  quintescent  philtre  of  itself.  This 
lively  powder,  this  bright  dust  was  like  the  very  grain 
of  that  country  where  everything  is  at  once  careless  and 
precious  and  everything  gives  life.  The  man  was  not 
a  countryman  and  he  was  tired,  for  he  had  walked  to- 
ward Alderson's  through  the  whole  night,  and  he  knew 
it  to  be  well  for  him  that  it  was  no  eastern  road  he  fol- 
lowed, and  no  eastern  air  that  his  spirit  seemed  to  lean 
upon  unshielded  under  that  ardent  sky.  Yet  he  sighed. 
Where  he  could  he  followed  the  car  track.  Now  and  then 
a  spot  of  shade  or  the  frollicking  silver  and  plash  of  an 
irrigation  ditch  invited  him  to  rest,  but  he  kept  on  with 
a  kind  of  dogged  hope  like  a  man  who  has  staked  every- 
thing on  the  end  of  his  road. 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  287 

In  the  meanwhile  the  crowds  were  thickening  about 
the  gates  of  Alderson  's.  The  proprietors  of  the  gardens, 
fearing  the  effect  upon  the  populace  of  the  summer 
theatre's  abrupt  closing  during  the  illness  of  the  stock- 
star,  had  done  all  that  was  possible  in  the  way  of  out- 
door attractions,  and  in  these  gay  hordes  they  be- 
held their  reward.  The  multitude,  however,  showed  a 
disposition  to  settle  also  upon  Poley's,  the  little  restau- 
rant, vaguely  foreign,  across  the  road.  Whenever  the 
leader  of  a  party  discovered  that  the  man  who  took 
tickets  at  Alderson 's  was  too  busy  to  answer  a  certain 
question  he  went  over  to  the  open-fronted,  table-strewn 
space  at  Poley's,  which  two  or  three  steps  might  have 
dignified  into  a  verandah,  and  asked  his  question  there 
over  a  drink — a  soft  drink  if  he  stayed  with  the  families 
in  the  open,  or  the  real  thing  if  he  stepped  into  the  lit- 
tle planked  back-room  behind  the  simple  light  blue  cur- 
tain which  did  duty  for  a  license.  In  either  case  the 
question  was  always  the  same.  "You  think  Frank 
Brainerd's  going  to  appear  out  here  this  morning?" 
To  this  would  come  the  cautious  reply,  ' '  He 's  advertised 
to." 

Frank  Brainerd — unlike  that  other  man  down  the 
road  whose  heart  was  also  set  on  Alderson 's — was  some- 
thing of  a  local  celebrity  and  this  question  was  fre- 
quently developed  by  bystanders.  "His  partner,  Mil- 
ler, has  just  got  down  here  to  meet  him. "  ' '  Did  he  say 
he  would  perform?"  "Oh,  at  the  hospital  they  said  it 
"ud  be  another  month  before  he  got  out.",  "They've 
sent  a  carriage  for  him  from  Alderson 's  just  the  same." 
"Oh,  he'll  make  a  little  fortune  if  he's  here  to  show  of? 


288  MERELY  PLAYERS 

those  snakes — and  that  thing — to-day.  He'll  be  here  all 
right."  "Yes,  but  if  he  lost  his  life  by  it,"  said  a 
woman,  "or  they  had  to  cut  his  arm  off — " 

From  these  scattered  commentators  there  emerged  a 
particularly  bumptious  lady,  at  once  incredulous  and 
greedy,  pitting  herself  against  the  uncommunicative 
Poley,  Jr.  "Aw  now,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  he  was 
ever  really  bit  by  any  Gila  Monster?" 

"That's  what  he  was,"  Joe  Poley  so  far  forgot  him- 
self as  to  proclaim. 

"I  never.  And  did  he  really  break  out  in  purple 
spots  size  of  a  silver  dollar,  the  way  they  say  he  did?" 

"That's  what  they  say,"  relapsing  into  his  normal 
caution. 

"An'  did  they  have  to  pour  a  whole  quart  of  whiskey 
down  him — really?" 

"So  they  say." 

The  eyes  of  several  listeners  brightened  enviously  and 
the  domestic,  vine-shadowed  cigar-stand  of  Mr.  Poley, 
its  pop-corn  balls  and  ginger  beer,  began  to  glitter  with 
a  borrowed  and  a  lurid  glory. 

The  lady's  stout  person  quivered  with  excitement. 
"An'  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  he's  alive  to-day  and  com- 
ing out  here  to  handle  that  thing  again  and  his  hand 
cut  off  already  an'  him  the  only  man  that  was  ever  bit 
by  one  an'  didn't  die  in  six  months  slowly  paralysed?" 

"He's  advertised  to." 

"It  ain't  six  months  yet,"  volunteered  a  hopeful 
spirit. 

"  I  've  heard  say  the  thing  itself  was  took  sick, ' '  a  wit 
drawled. 

Joe  Poley,  disdaining  to  deny  or  affirm,   frothed  a 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  289 

lemonade  in  his  shaker  and  jogged  up  the  small  boy  who 
had  ordered  it  but  whose  attention  had  been  lured  away 
by  this  talk  of  the  fabulous  Brainerd. 

A  gentleman  of  more  social  pretensions  peering  hope- 
lessly among  the  nickel  cigars,  asked:  "This  Brainerd 
the  man  that  runs  the  snake-show?" 

"Yes,  him  and  Miller.  Miller's  new  at  the  business, 
though,  and  he  ain't  never  been  bit  by  anything  beyond 
a  rattler.  Brainerd 's  the  fellow  they  all  want  to  see." 

The  gentleman,  appeased  by  a  cigarette  from  some 
hidden  hoard,  listened  with  a  faint  smile  to  the  outcries 
of  the  stout  lady — "But  that's  his  only  chance,  isn't  it? 
that  it  made  itself  sick.  If  it  was  to  die,  wouldn't  that 
be  a  sign  he's  going  to  get  well?  You  may  think  you're 
funny,  but  it  said  so  in  the  papers!  He's  got  such  a  lot 
o'  old  snake  bite  poison  in  him  that  they  kind  o'  hope 
it'll  be  stronger  than  the  Gila  Monster's,  an'  if  it  dies, 
that 's  a  sign  that 's  so.  Ain  't  I  right  ? ' '  she  appealed  to 
Joe  Poley  who  replied,  * '  That 's  what  they  say. ' ' 

"It  won't  die,  I  imagine,"  smiled  the  gentleman. 

"Get  out!"  shot  forth  the  small  boy  over  the  straws 
of  his  lemonade;  "a  copperhead  bit  him  the  week  be- 
fore, 'cause  I  saw  it,  an'  it  died!"  Everybody  looked 
with  chilliness  at  the  small  boy  as  if  he  had  no  right  of 
speech  in  so  informed  and  august  an  assemblage. 

The  eye  of  the  gentleman,  travelling  over  the  heads 
of  the  little  picnicky  groups,  rested  upon  a  round  table 
occupying  a  corner  at  once  the  most  airy  and  the  most 
sheltered ;  about  this,  two  young  men  and  a  girl,  dressed 
with  a  certain  sophistication  in  riding  clothes,  sat  at 
their  refreshments  in  light-hearted  ease.  Upon  his 
reaching  and  saluting  them,  the  gentleman  was  at  once 
19 


290  MERELY  PLAYERS 

asked  to  sit  down  and  have  something;  but  he  was  too 
superior  to  the  sunny,  rowdy  spirit  of  the  day  for  that, 
and  he  said  no,  he  had  promised  to  meet  some  friends  at 
the  Casino  inside  the  gardens  and  he  supposed  he  would 
have  to  go  and  look  them  up. 

"At  the  Casino?  Oh,  then,"  said  the  apparent  host, 
_who  was  the  very  handsomest  of  the  young  fellows, 
"you  will  see  Clara  Louise  in  all  her  glory!" 

"Clara  Louise?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Folsom,  our  heavy  woman.  Some  of  the 
prominent  citizens  are  giving  her  a  luncheon.  Posi- 
tively for  this  day  only  her  foot  is  on  her  native  heath 
and  she  has  returned  to  doing  the  society  act." 

"She  was  never  a  society  woman!"  indignantly  ejacu- 
lated the  gentleman.  And  "Oh,  I  daresay  not,"  the 
other  easily  replied. 

The  second  young  man  added,  with  a  quaint  twist  of 
his  mouth :  ' '  There  must  be  lots  of  divorcees,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  who  really  aren't  society  women." 
The  handsome  young  man  stirred  uneasily  and  looked  at 
the  speaker  with  reproach ;  he  was  not  sure  that  divorcee 
was  a  proper  term  to  use  before  little  Miss  Waters. 
This  was  Miss  Waters'  first  season  on  the  stage,  and  you 
couldn't  be  too  careful  of  her. 

"Who's  giving  the  luncheon?"  asked  the  gentleman. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  come  down  to  that,  I  daresay  they 
aren't  society  people  either.  There  is  something  sug- 
gestively characteristic  in  their  name  of  Packer  in  which, 
probably,  they  don 't  rejoice.  But  I  should  be  disturbed 
to  hear  they  weren't  very  rich." 

"The  Packers!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in  disdain, 
"The  T.  B.  Packers!  Oh,  they're  rich  enough  but— 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  291 

why  should  you  distress  yourself  about  such  people?" 

"Because  a  friend  of  mine,  an  actor,  Dan  Herron — 
you  may  have  heard  of  him?  well,  that  doesn't  matter 
— is  engaged  to  marry  Miss  Packer.  Must  be  married 
to  her,  come  to  think  of  it,  by  this  time." 

The  gentleman  with  the  cigarette  was  not  interested. 
' '  What  news  of  your  star  ? ' '  said  he. 

"Oh,  Wentworth's  better.  We  shall  be  playing 
again  before  long.  It's  been  an  awful  nuisance  to  her, 
poor  little  woman,  just  as  she  was  getting  to  be  such  a 
favorite  out  here." 

"And  she  has  the  theatre  on  her  hands,  I  under- 
stand, for  the  whole  summer?  It  must  be  a  terrible  ex- 
pense." 

"Her  darkest  symptom,"  said  Donnelly,  "is  that 
she 's  paying  us  our  money  while  she 's  ill.  I  don 't  believe 
a  woman  can  expect  to  get  well  in  this  world  who  does 
a  thing  like  that." 

"I  understand  it's  a  frightfully  expensive  cast." 

"Oh,  surely!  These  all  star-stocks  that  really  do  con- 
tain one  or  two  members  who  have  failed  in  that  capacity 
can't  be  got  for  nothing  even  in  summer.  But  'tis  she 
that's  the  old-timer !  She  was  so  brought  up  in  the  busi- 
ness that  she  prefers  actors  to  scenery,  and  we  haven't 
had  an  electric  fountain  nor  a  real  elephant  the  whole 
season.  Only,  she  was  taken  ill  as  Lady  Babbie  and 
she  means  to  return  as  Fedora,  and  her  company  are 
kept  limber  by  the  exercise." 

"You  must  be  glad  of  the  rest." 

Donnelly,  Miss  Waters  and  the  handsome  Torrance 
all  looked  vague  and  serious,  and  said  Oh  yes,  they  were. 

The  gentleman  asked  them  if  they  were  waiting  for 


292  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  concert  and  Torrance  answered  No,  that  they  were 
supposed  to  be  resting  their  horses.  Some  of  the  others 
who  had  gone  for  over  Sunday  to  Silverton  were  to 
join  them  on  the  mountain  that  afternoon;  they  them- 
selves were  due  at  the  Whip  and  Saddle  Club  for  din- 
ner; there  was  a  moon  expected  to  ride  back  by,  in  time 
for  the  tail  end  of  the  evening  concert.  However,  what 
they  were  really  waiting  there  for,  Torrance  concluded, 
was  a  sight  of  Frank  Brainerd. 

The  gentleman  lifted  his  eyebrows.  Did  they  really 
believe  the  man  had  been  bitten  by  a  Gila  Monster,  or 
that  if  he  had,  he  would  really  come  back  there  to-day 
and  handle  the  thing  again  for  exhibition! 

"That's  what  they  say,"  Torrance  quoted  after  him 
in  a  jeering  cheerfulness  as  he  moved  away,  protesting. 

The  actors  were  left  to  themselves  and  the  shining 
hurly-burly  of  the  day.  Before  them,  across  the  sorrel- 
coloured  road  and  through  the  rustic  gates,  the  crowd 
still  poured  and  mingled  in  its  motley  joy.  Starched 
and  frilled  families,  pink  and  blue,  with  lunch  baskets 
and  flower-wreathed  hats — the  mothers  in  plaid  silks 
or  straining  shirt  waists — scrambled  from  the  flag- 
decked  trolleys  and  made  for  Poley's  or  into  the  gar- 
dens for  the  picnic  grove;  automobiles  swept  hissing 
up  in  green  or  scarlet  pomp  and  deposited  the  floating 
elegance  of  veiled  ladies,  whose  pale  laces  shimmered 
mystically  under  their  light,  long  cloaks;  these  were 
escorted  towards  the  Casino,  presently  to  occupy  seats 
at  the  concert;  ordinary  foot-passengers  in  crisp  duck 
and  limp  lawns,  in  frock-coats  and  flannels,  moved  like 
royalty  amid  the  haze  of  golden  dust;  the  national  ban- 
ner streamed  from  the  park  gates  above  their  heads, 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  293 

airy  little  winds  scattered  the  soft  snow  of  the  cotton- 
woods  and  the  distant  strains  of  the  brass-bands;  out 
from  the  gardens  the  perfume  of  heliotrope  and  verbena, 
of  mignonette  and  roses  came  like  a  greeting  and  a 
promise;  everywhere  there  was  movement  and  chatter, 
laughter  and  colour,  youth,  frolic,  life.  All  things 
lifted  up  their  hearts  to  the  sun. 

"I'm  sure  Miss  Wentworth  must  be  all  right  soon," 
said  little  Miss  Waters,  suddenly.  "I  don't  see  how 
anybody  can  be  sick  here." 

Mr.  Torrance  smiled  upon  her  with  a  paternal  eye. 
He  was  not  quite  thirty,  and  though  he  was  known  to 
his  entire  profession  merely  and  fondly  as  "Sammy," 
yet  to  the  public  he  was  already  that  celebrated,  expen- 
sive leading  man,  Donald  S.  Torrance.  Therefore,  his 
experience  in  the  natural  course  of  his  conspicuous 
pulchritude  had  led  him  into  a  chivalrous  convention- 
alism toward  women — a  serious  young  protectiveness 
toward  the  too  perishable  reputations  of  a  careless  sex. 
In  pursuance  of  this  scrupulous  policy,  when  he  had  in- 
vited little  Miss  Waters  to  be  his  guest  for  the  day,  he 
had  brought  along  Fred  Donnelly  as  chaperon.  Mr. 
Donnelly  was  a  gentleman  of  about  twenty-five  with  a 
lugubrious  north-of-Ireland  countenance  and  an  allur- 
ing all-Irish  smile.  These  two  gentle  cavaliers  sat  pa- 
tiently in  the  eye  of  day  and  cast  never  a  glance  upon 
the  thin  blue  curtain  and  the  normal  joys  behind  it; 
little  Miss  Waters  sipped  her  lemonade  in  an  atmosphere 
of  the  most  abstemious  propriety.  She  would  herself 
have  been  thankful  for  a  drop  of  claret  in  its  chill 
thinness,  but  she  could  not  look  at  Sammy  Torrance 's 
seraphic  cast  of  countenance,  bright  and  clear  as  the 


294  THE  PROFESSIONALS 

light  of  the  first  dawning,  and  acknowledge  anything  so 
gross;  and  so  the  gentlemen  continued  to  survey  their 
ginger  beer  with  natural  but  restrained  shudders. 

"I  don't  wonder  people  come  here  to  get  well," 
the  girl  continued.  "It's  enough  just  to  breathe  out 
here.  They're  always  saying  the  air  is  like  a  tonic,  but 
it's  like  something  more  wonderful  than  that.  It's 
like  waking  and  finding  that  everything's  come  right — 
waking  into  a  good  dream,  if  you  know  what  I  mean, 
and  finding  that  you're  able  to  do,  all  of  a  sudden, 
everything  that  you  've  always  wanted  to  do. ' ' 

"I  never  found  that  it  made  me  learn  my  lines  any 
easier,"  said  Mr.  Donnelly.  "But  I  guess  you've  got 
it  down  all  right,  just  the  same.  Here's  where  Mr.  De 
Leon  ought  to  have  struck  his  fountain  instead  of  down 
in  those  Florida  fogs." 

"I  keep  thinking  about  Herron  to-day,"  said  Tor- 
ranee.  "He  was  lucky  to  land  out  here.  The  doctors 
all  said  he  could  get  well  if  he  stayed  west  long  enough. 
But  he  couldn't  earn  his  living  here,  of  course.  And 
then  he  gets  the  chance  to  marry  this  girl ! ' ' 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Donnelly,  "that  if  I  could 
work  up  a  hacking  cough  a  millionairess  might  take  a 
fancy  to  me?  In  this  sun  I  could  get  hold  of  a  hectic 
flush  in  no  time." 

' '  Oh,  but  Dan  had  other  qualities, ' '  Torrance  laughed. 
"Did  you  ever  see  him  play  a  love-scene?  He'd  have 
been  starring  long  ago  only  that  he  seemed  to  be  just 
naturally  unlucky.  Well,  luck's  made  it  up  to  him  now. 
Queer  we  haven't  seen  anything  of  him  all  summer.  I 
hope  he  isn't  getting  proud.  They  don't  seem  to  be 
married  yet." 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  295 

"No,"  said  Miss  "Waters.  "Miss  Folsom  said,  from 
the  few  times  she  met  her,  she  wouldn  't  even  have  known 
Miss  Packer  was  engaged.  She  thought  Miss  Packer 
seemed  crazy  about  professional  people  and  just  took  a 
fancy  to  her  on  that  account.  You  know  the  Packers 
were  to  have  gone  to  Europe  two  weeks  ago  and  then 
something  happened  to  keep  Mr.  Packer  here  awhile. 
If  they  don't  start  to-morrow,  Miss  Folsom  is  going  to 
introduce  me  to  them." 

The  mouths  of  Miss  "Waters'  knights  opened  and 
closed.  They  did  not  approve  of  Clara  Louise  Folsom 
as  a  sponser  for  a  little  girl.  However,  Donnelly  said 
only,  "  I  'm  glad  Clara  Louise  thinks  of  herself  as  a  dis- 
tinctly professional  person!  From  boudoir  to  foot- 
lights— and  yet,  Lord,  why  shouldn't  she?  See  what 
her  money  and  her  notoriety  and  her  having  three  names 
has  done  for  her  in  two  years!" 

"Wasn't  she  awfully  well  known  as  an  amateur  be- 
fore she  went  on?"  asked  the  young  girl. 

"Yes,  and  that's  the  way  she  always  will  be  known. 
In  another  two  years  she  will  have  gone  starring,  mar- 
ried more  money  and  retired.  She's  no  natural  born 
fakir.  One-night  stands  are  not  for  her."  He  began 
mischievously  to  chant 

"  Al  —  though  —  she  shakes  the  tambourine, 
Yet  —  she  —  is  no  actorine; 
Oh  —  no  —  she  cannot  chew  a  scene — " 

"Europe!"  Torrance  mused,  "that  looks  queer,  too. 
He  hasn  't  been  out  here  long  enough  to  risk  Europe  yet. 
I  wonder  if  it  can  be  off?" 

"  Off !    No,  you  bet  he  wouldn 't  let  it  be.    He  couldn  't 


296  MERELY  PLAYERS 

afford  to.  What  a  chance  for  Herron,  after  all  he'd 
been  through — to  sit  and  face  consumption  in  New  York 
— yes,  and  most  of  the  time  since  he's  been  sick  without 
a  job  in  a  hall  bedroom — and  now  to  pick  up  millions 
and  his  health,  too,  in  a  place  of  glory  like  this.  But 
I  pity  the  girl." 

"Oh,  come  now!  I  don't  know — " 

"Well,  I  do  know.  When  Herron  isn't  way  down  on 
the  earth  earthy,  he's  all  up  in  the  air.  He's  either  a 
freak  or  a  genius,  and  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  the  job 
of  keeping  him  amused  for  life. ' ' 

"Well,  Miss  Folsom's  never  seen  him,"  their  com- 
panion insisted,  "and  she  thinks  Miss  Packer's  terribly 
unhappy.  Didn't  you  think,  when  they  got  out  of  their 
motor,  a  while  ago,  and  went  into  the  gardens,  that  Miss 
Packer  looked  awfully,  awfully  pretty  but  a  little  too — " 

"Isn't  that  Brainerd's  partner?"  Donnelly  bluntly 
interrupted  her. 

Torrance  looked  up  and  hailed  the  partner.  "Oh, 
Miller!  Sit  down.  Have  something.  Any  news  of 
Brainerd?" 

"I  expect  him  every  minute.  If  anything  should 
happen  to  keep  him,  I  don't  know  how  I'm  going  to 
handle  this  crowd."  He  acknowledged  Miss  Waters' 
presence  and  gloomily  accepted  some  sarsaparilla.  "No- 
body believes  he  '11  be  here ;  and  then  if  he  is  here,  they  '11 
believe  it  never  bit  him.  I  wish  it  would  die.  It's 
twice  as  nasty  looking  lately;  it's  so  sick.  I  wouldn't 
handle  it  for  a  farm.  I  've  spoken  to  him  about  it,  times 
enough,  but  pshaw,  you  couldn  't  keep  him  from  mauling 
it  when  there's  a  show  on,  not  if  he  was  dying.  It'll 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  297 

kill  him  yet — you  can  tie  to  that  all  right."  Uttering 
these  doleful  sentiments  Mr.  Miller  took  a  swallow  of 
ochre-coloured  refreshment  and  cast  a  jaundiced  eye 
upon  the  crowd.  "Not  that  they  care!"  he  added  with 
the  full  effect  of  a  banshee's  curse.  Himself  a  brave 
man,  his  devotion  to  Brainerd,  his  pride  in  him,  were 
casting  a  gloom  upon  his  point  of  view.  He  regarded 
ruefully  the  clipped  end  of  his  own  thumb.  "That  was 
just  a  rattler,"  he  explained.  "Rattlers  are  enough 
for  me." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  little  quickening  change  and 
motion  in  the  crowd.  A  trolley  flung  itself  forward 
and  back  for  an  instant  with  a  vibrating  jerk,  and  all 
eyes  were  fastened  on  a  spare,  broad-shouldered  man 
who  stood  on  the  back  platform  and  whose  keen  eyes 
smiled  out  at  the  public  above  the  sling  that  bound  his 
arm.  Miller  sprang  to  his  feet.  ' '  There 's  Frank  now ! ' ' 
and  with  a  hasty  motion  of  leave-taking  started  toward 
his  friend.  The  faces  of  the  actors  brightened.  They, 
too,  rose.  A  simultaneous  motion  to  desert  little  Miss 
Waters  was  heroically  checked.  But  Miss  Waters  was  a 
noble  creature  and  urged  them  on;  together  they  made 
their  way  with  adroit  pushes  through  the  crowd — and 
then  Brainerd 's  unhurt  left  hand  met  Torrance's  grasp. 
"For  the  love  of  the  Lord,  Brainerd,"  said  Torrance, 
"you're  not  going  to  do  any  such  durn  fool  thing  as  to 
monkey  with  that  beast  again  to-day ! ' ' 

"Oh,  I've  got  to,  I  guess.  There's  no  danger  at  all. 
How  are  you?"  nodded  the  hero  of  the  day  here  and 
there  over  Torrance's  shoulder.  "You  can  bring  the 
lady  up  to  the  tent  all  right,  if  she'd  like  to  see 


298  MERELY  PLAYERS 

the  show;  there  won't  anything  happen,  of  course. 
After  a  little  everybody '11  be  in  at  the  concert  and  I  can 
show  her  round." 

Suitable  acknowledgments  and  excuses  were  made. 
It  began  to  be  clear  that  Miller  was  anxious  to  get  his 
partner  away,  half  because  he  dreaded  for  him  the  fa- 
tigue, the  press,  the  prolonged  handshaking  under  the 
hot  noon,  and  half  in  the  necessity  of  catching  for  the 
snake  show  the  stragglers  before  the  concert.  As  Brain- 
erd  let  his  attention  wander  between  public  acclama- 
tion and  the  exordiums  of  his  partner,  the  keenness  of 
his  roving  glance  lighted  for  a  moment  upon  a  smallish 
thin  man,  very  shabby,  dark  as  night  and  covered  with 
dust,  who  came  with  a  kind  of  weary  energy  up  to  the 
gates  of  Alderson's  and  stood  reading  the  old  casts  and 
posters  with  a  strange  greed  in  his  eye.  The  strain  of 
his  long  tramp  back  there  after  the  trolleys  showed  in 
the  heavy  droop  and  drag  of  his  still  hopeful  step;  he 
stood  within  six  feet  of  the  blithe  trio  of  actors,  a  somber 
contrast  to  their  radiant  ease,  but  without  noting  them 
or  catching  their  notice.  It  was  Brainerd  who  ob- 
served that  the  man  had  a  kind  of  mark  about  him  such 
as  he  himself  still  bore,  for  despite  an  essential  vigor  in 
his  fatigue  he  was  more  gaunt  than  was  quite  seemly 
and  there  was  a  depth  of  pallor  under  his  tan — "Bet 
he's  not  long  out  of  a  hospital,"  thought  the  snake 
tamer.  There  was  something  else,  too;  Brainerd 
thought  the  man  looked  hungry.  Yet,  lifting  his  eyes 
from  the  posters,  he  paid  his  dime  for  entrance-fee  and 
went  through  the  gates. 

Brainerd  forgot  about  the  stranger  in  hearing  Tor- 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  299 

ranee  say,  "I  suppose  it's  no  use,  old  man,  to  argue 
about  this  Gila  Monster  business?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  Brainerd  again.  He  yielded 
to  Miller's  solicitations  and  started  for  the  gardens. 

' '  Well,  you  deserve  all  you  get, ' '  Torrance  called  after 
him  in  fond  admiration. 

"Oh,  well — business,  you  know." 

The  old  orchard,  which,  clipped  into  decorative  utility, 
formed  the  natural  aisles  of  green  spreading  inward 
from  the  entrance  to  Alderson's,  had  long  since  shed  its 
weight  of  blossoms,  but  its  shade,  deep  in  the  noontide 
heat  and  quiet,  was  drenched  with  the  warm  sweetness 
of  innumerable  blooms.  From  the  rich  and  odorous 
shelter  of  flowering  vines  the  birds  still  called;  the  bees 
were  droning  softly  round  the  crimson  poppies,  shoul- 
der high,  through  which  the  wanderer  of  Brainerd 's 
notice  took  his  way.  He  came  out  at  length  on  lawns 
of  a  fresh  green  upon  which  white  peacocks  spread  their 
fans  of  glory.  Far  on  either  hand  were  bear-pits  and 
shooting  galleries,  bicycle  courses,  ponds,  fountains,  base- 
ball grounds.  These  again  were  bounded  by  groves 
and  thickets  and  discountenanced  by  the  elegant  pseudo- 
rusticity  of  the  Casino ;  but  here  and  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance were  only  the  flowers,  the  dense,  bosky  beauty  of 
tall  trees  and  the  smooth,  stately  lawns.  At  the  end  of 
their  full  sweep  rose  the  theatre.  The  man  recognized 
it  and  stood  still,  his  eyes  resting  on  it  with  the  look  of 
Christian  gazing  on  his  City  Beautiful.  Then  he  went 
to  it  like  an  arrow.  He  passed  its  front  without  a  glance 
and  made  for  the  little  vine-covered  porch  at  the  side; 


300  MERELY  PLAYERS 

this  was  an  opening  in  a  high  fence  which  let  at  once 
into  a  yard  of  beaten  earth  across  which  one  saw  the 
stage  door.  In  the  middle  of  the  yard  some  men  were 
gilding  an  old  throne;  on  the  velvet  of  its  discarded 
cushions  a  kitten  lay  asleep.  Through  the  open  door 
the  vast  empty  stage  lay  bare  in  the  draggly  light,  and 
from  the  carpenter 's  shop  at  the  rear  came  the  pounding 
and  banging  and  sawing  that  are  generally  reserved  to 
interrupt  rehearsals — and  the  sound  of  them  came  to 
that  man's  ears  like  the  song  of  the  grace  of  God.  He 
was  for  the  moment  content  simply  to  stand  there  and 
take  in  all  that  was  alien  to  that  happy  land :  the  dust, 
the  glue,  the  faint,  floating,  watery  light,  the  hurried 
noise,  the  folded  scenery  canvas-side  out,  the  prompt-table 
shoved  to  one  side  with  some  torn  scrolls  of  music  lying 
on  it,  the  vast,  void,  ugly  business-like  interior,  ready  as 
an  empty  shop — in  that  fresh  light,  in  that  rich  air,  that 
noon,  that  garden,  it  was  with  these  he  warmed  his  heart 
and  made  peace  with  his  soul. 

Presently  he  turned  to  a  stage-hand  and  said,  with  his 
voice  lingering  voluptuously  on  the  words,  "The  per- 
formance at  two?" 

"Concert's  at  two-thirty,"  said  the  stage-hand,  who 
had  been  eyeing  him  with  a  lenient  curiosity,  "Ain't 
any  performance." 

"No  performance!"  said  the  man. 

"Nup." 

"No  matinee  on  Saturday?" 

"No,  no  show  at  all,  matinee  nor  night." 

"Kate  Wentworth's  company's  playing  here,  isn't 
it?"  insisted  the  man  with  a  kind  of  frightened  stub- 
bornness. He  made  his  voice  very  commanding  as 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  301 

though  he  could  snub  fate  into  submission  by  snubbing 
the  stage-hand. 

' '  It  was  playing  here ;  she 's  been  sick  and  the  theatre 
closed  over  two  weeks  ago. ' ' 

The  stranger  stood  staring  at  the  stage-hand,  and 
when  the  latter  moved  away  he  continued  to  stare  at 
the  same  place  as  if  he  were  not  aware  of  any  change, 
but  bye-and-bye  he  looked  at  the  ground  a  few  feet  in 
front  of  him  instead ;  then  without  another  question,  an- 
other word,  but  with  a  lagging  and  crumpled  gait,  he  went 
out  of  the  yard.  On  the  outside  of  the  fence  he  stood 
about  blindly  for  a  little  and  then,  aimlessly,  he  dropped 
onto  a  big  boulder  that  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  path, 
pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

In  the  meantime  Brainerd  and  his  partner  had  reached 
the  snake-tent.  It  had  been  a  longish  walk,  stopped 
as  it  was  at  every  step  or  two  by  good  wishes  and  con- 
gratulations, and  as  this  was  Brainerd 's  first  day  out 
of  hospital  it  had  tired  him.  But  being  followed  into 
the  tent  by  a  whole  tillful  of  dime-giving  visitors  and 
being  eagerly  received  by  a  number  already  there,  he 
climbed  at  once  over  the  wire  barrier  of  ' '  the  den ' '  which 
was  fenced  off  in  the  center  of  the  tent  and  picked  up 
a  copperhead.  The  bright-coloured,  pretty  little  deadly 
thing  coiled  about  his  wrist  and  cuddled  beneath  his 
cuff;  he  slipped  it  gently  out  again,  explaining  its  qual- 
ities to  the  fascinated  interest  of  his  audience;  he 
followed  this  up  with  the  more  apparent  evil  of  a  cotton- 
mouthed  moccasin;  here  and  there  he  loaned  a  non-poi- 
sonous snake — a  "king"  or  a  "garter" — to  some  greed- 
ily heroic  child  whose  parents  were  then  filled  with  the 
same  immediate  consternation  as  the  reptile ;  he  took  up 


302  MEEELY  PLAYERS 

in  pure  idleness  the  biggest  of  the  bull  snakes,  sick 
and  savage  and  stone-blind  in  its  scaling  time,  and 
scuffed  some  of  its  dead  skin  for  it  while  he  talked;  he 
showed  them  the  skin  of  the  python's  splendid  mate 
who  had  died  slowly  of  the  cold  under  the  flame  of  an 
August  sun ;  he  made  the  coach-whips  lash  up  with  their 
braided  bodies  the  sand  of  the  floor.  Loose  and  at  their 
ease  in  the  den  the  serpents  were  better  tempered  than 
when  kept  in  cages,  still  "Don't  they  fight  each  other?" 
people  were  continually  asking  Brainerd,  and  "Not  in 
captivity,"  he  would  patiently  reply;  the  doomed  and 
comfortable  white  rats,  mistaking  their  foes  for  dirt, 
pushed  them  about  or  prodded  and  dug  in  their  sides 
with  impunity.  But  in  one  corner  some  humourous 
spirits  had  driven  the  rattlers  to  fury  by  flicking  hand- 
kerchiefs against  the  guarding  screen ;  this  was  now  cov- 
ered with  the  fine  purple  film  of  venom  which  the  snakes 
spat  against  it  as  they  writhed  and  hissed,  crouched 
and  sprang  in  madness.  Reproving  these  jesters  some- 
what tartly,  Brainerd  trod  carefully  among  soft  little 
supine  bodies  till  he  reached  the  group  of  rattlers,  which 
he  lifted  in  a  twisted,  wriggling  bunch.  One  was  spit- 
ting and  fuming  above  the  rest;  the  others  he  let  slide 
carefully  down  his  leg  to  the  ground;  that  one  he  kept 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  of  his  bent  arm,  where  at  once 
it  lay  quiet  and  at  peace.  There  was  a  moment 's  silence 
in  the  tent. 

But  the  crowd,  however  thrilled  and  edified  by  this 
entertainment,  was  still  restively  curious  and  expectant; 
even  the  children  were  not  contented  by  the  rabbits  that 
munched  in  corners  nor  by  Brainerd 's  pet  eagle,  not 
yet  full-grown,  which  flirted  with  them  from  its  perch, 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  303 

winking  its  golden  eyes;  the  public  was  afraid  of  being 
cheated,  could  not  believe  that  it  would  not  be,  and 
Brainerd  presently  called  out,  "Well,  where  is  he,  Mil- 
ler? I  don't  see  our  little  friend — this  one,"  he  added 
sardonically,  good-humouredly,  touching  his  empty 
sleeve.  The  crowd  rustled  like  the  snakes  themselves 
and  drew  as  eagerly  together. 

"It's  over  there,"  said  Miller,  grudgingly,  indicating 
with  his  thumb  a  distant  cage. 

"Psha!"    said    Brainerd.     "Kept   him    caged    up!" 

He  clambered  out  of  the  den  and  opening  the  cage 
door  drew  out  the  small  and  horrid  squat  figure  of  the 
Gila  Monster. 

The  eyes  of  the  crowd  snapped  with  gratified  expect- 
ancy at  the  same  time  that  its  bodies  shrank  and  shud- 
dered. "You  been  sick,  hunh?"  said  Brainerd  to  the 
thing.  He  carried  it  to  the  edge  of  the  den,  and  Miller 
brought  him  a  small  wooden  table  on  which  to  exhibit 
it.  He  was  running  his  fingers  along  the  creature's 
puffy,  bloated  belly  which  seemed  to  press  gratefully 
against  them.  "You  haven't  warmed  his  milk  lately," 
he  said  to  Miller  in  an  undertone.  "I  wish  it  had 
died!"  Miller  growled.  Brainerd  continued  rubbing  it 
for  a  moment  with  a  soft  but  rather  absent-minded 
touch;  then  he  set  it  down  on  the  table  and  gave  his 
brief  lecture  on  its  natural  history.  It  looked,  squatting 
there,  like  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  large  bead  purse 
woven  in  a  grotesque  pattern  of  pink  and  black,  and 
yet  there  was  something  in  its  chunky  clownishness  that 
excited  instinctive  loathing  as  if  it  were  some  horror  of 
Egyptian  fancy,  some  ancient  and  outraging  carica- 
ture of  innocence.  It  was  so  still  and  so  bestial,  so 


304  MERELY  PLAYERS 

mild,  so  mighty  and  so  inert,  sluggishly  breathing  death 
out  of  its  open  stupid  mouth!  Brainerd's  accustomed 
hand  moved  it,  lifted  it,  turned  it  over,  set  it  down. 
The  crowd  was  warned  not  to  touch  it,  but  the  warning 
was  unnecessary;  people  even  begged  Brainerd  to  desist 
— the  public  had  seen  what  it  wished  to  see  and  was 
satisfied  and  lifted  its  thumb.  The  python  was  then 
displayed,  twined  round  Brainerd's  legs  and  waist  and 
heaped  over  his  shoulders  in  the  orthodox  poster  fashion, 
but  even  this  was  an  anticlimax  and  the  show  was 
over. 

The  partners  were  content  to  be  alone.  In  the  in- 
terval before  the  next  audience  Brainerd  lighted  his 
pipe  and  stretched  himself  on  a  bench.  ''It's  good 
to  get  back,"  he  said  to  Miller,  and  he  repeated  this  to 
himself  after  Miller  had  gone  to  the  Refreshment  Pa- 
vilion for  his  lunch.  He  was  quite  willing  that  no  one 
should  come  along  for  a  while ;  he  was  glad  to  lie  there 
in  the  warm  yellowness  of  the  tent  under  the  sun  and 
feel  himself  his  own  man  again;  he  thought  lazily  of 
Roekville,  where  they  would  give  the  show  next  week, 
of  its  prospects  and  his  friends  and  of  how  one  of  them 
had  got  an  option  on  an  armadillo  for  him ;  he  whistled 
a  little  to  his  eagle;  once  he  turned  on  his  side  to  scat- 
ter a  cracker  for  the  loping  foraging  rabbits ;  he  breathed 
in  with  joy  the  mingled  odours  of  the  sand  and  sawdust 
and  tan-bark;  he  was  soothed  by  the  silent  company 
of  the  myriad  quiet  living  things  which  were  his  care 
and  his  livelihood.  Miller  was  gone  some  time,  for  it 
was  difficult  to  get  waited  on  in  the  crush.  Bye-and-bye 
Brainerd  rose  and  went  to  the  opening  of  the  tent  and 
stood  there  leaning  on  the  ticket-box,  or  rather  cash- 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  305 

box,  and  smoking;  he  could  see  a  good  stretch  of  the 
bright,  shady  grounds  and  it  pleased  him  to  watch  the 
gaily-dressed  groups,  the  busy,  idle  crowd.  The  stream 
was  now  well  set  for  the  concert;  his  eyes  wandered 
among  its  myriad  shades  of  colour,  among  the  glancing 
beams  struck  out  by  the  sun  from  the  ornaments  of 
young  fashion,  from  the  puffings  and  plumings  of  wom- 
en's hair;  to  his  ear  idle  coquetries  of  the  breeze  flung 
over  the  heads  of  the  multitude  snatches  from  the  dis- 
tant bands,  bubbles  of  stray  tunes  floated  near  among 
leaves  and  branches,  green  shadows,  pools  of  light. 
When  Brainerd  looked  toward  the  theatre  the  first  thing 
he  noticed  was  a  lonely  figure  sitting  on  a  boulder  by 
the  road. 

It  was  the  same  man  he  had  noticed  by  the  gate  and 
his  fancy  was  attracted  to  him  now  as  then  by  a  note 
of  something  lively  and  desperate  in  his  quiet  figure. 
For  the  strange  man  was  rousing  from  his  knock-down 
blow;  while  Brainerd  was  still  watching  him  he  himself 
began  to  watch  the  people  as  they  mounted  the  theatre 
steps,  and  presently  he  got  resolutely  up  and  crossed  to 
the  lobby,  where  he  stood  alert.  When  there  was  a  little 
pause  in  the  procession  he  went  over  to  the  box-office 
and  Brainerd  could  see  that  he  was  getting  angry  as 
he  talked  there ;  but  then  everybody  who  does  not  thrive 
on  snubs  gets  almost  as  angry  at  a  box-office  as  at  the 
desk  of  a  hotel;  this  man  stuck  it  out,  however,  kept 
paying  people  waiting,  smiled,  at  first  sarcastically  and 
then  with  genuine  fun,  took  off  his  shabby  hat  with  a 
flourish  of  mock  gratitude  and  came  down  the  steps 
again,  growing  moodier  as  he  came.  Brainerd  supposed 
that  he  had  been  asking  for  a  pass  and  was  surprised 
20 


306  MERELY  PLAYERS 

to  find  himself  sympathizing  with  him,  for  to  expect  a 
pass  on  a  holiday  is  shamelessly  unprofessional.  Brai- 
nerd  did  not  know  just  why  or  when  he  had  become 
aware  of  the  man's  being  an  actor;  first  he  was  not 
thinking  of  it  and  then  he  did  not  doubt  it.  The  man 
strolled  to  the  prairie-dog's  enclosure  with  a  lighter  step 
than  hitherto,  as  though  any  altercation,  even  at  a  box- 
office,  was  enough  to  buoy  him  up,  and  he  stood  regard- 
ing the  little  figures  with  a  brotherly  intelligence  and 
sensibility  that  warmed  the  heart  of  the  snake-tamer 
accustomed  to  the  gaping  emptiness  of  silly  wonder. 
But  Brainerd's  attention,  as  he  still  stood  smoking  on 
his  threshold,  drifted  once  more  to  the  strong  current  of 
the  crowd;  when  Miller  came  back  he  sent  him  away 
again  to  take  charge  of  their  little  booth  of  snake-skins 
which  Miller's  wife  had  been  tending.  She  ought  to 
have  a  while  off,  Brainerd  said;  nobody  was  likely  to 
come  in  here  till  the  concert  was  over — no,  he  didn't 
want  any  lunch,  he'd  had  something  just  before  he  left 
town.  After  Miller  had  gone  he  went  inside  and  looked 
at  the  Gila  Monster  again,  and  felt  it  softly  as  before. 
It  was  still  horribly  sick-looking  and  hatefully  blown 
and  puffed.  "Burn  him!"  said  Brainerd  sympatheti- 
cally to  the  reptile,  in  reference  to  the  antipathy  of  Mr. 
Miller,  and  dropping  the  sufferer  into  his  pocket  he 
went  behind  the  tent,  where  there  was  a  chest  and  an  oil- 
stove,  and  with  his  one  hand  poured  some  milk  into  a 
pan  and  began  to  warm  it.  "I  think  a  lot  of  Miller," 
he  said  to  himself,  "but  a  man  that  feels  that  way  about 
a  business,  what  made  him  come  into  it? — here."  A 
sucking  gurgle  of  infinite  satisfaction  rewarded  him  as 
the  Monster  came  in  contact  with  the  milk.  When  the 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  307 

last  drop  was  gone  he  once  more  carelessly  spilled  the 
Monster  into  his  pocket  and  lit  another  pipe.  When  he 
got  out  to  the  front  of  the  tent  and  lifted  his  eyes 
again  from  the  kindling  tobacco  he  found  that  they  were 
looking  into  the  bright  dark  eyes  of  the  strange  actor. 

Neither  of  the  men  moved.  Then  Brainerd  nodded 
shortly  and  smiled.  The  other  man  nodded,  too.  Their 
grace  was  that  of  a  couple  of  awkward  little  strange 
boys,  but  behind  this  was  the  ease,  the  assurance  of 
grown  vagabonds.  Presently  Brainerd  took  the  Mon- 
ster out  of  his  pocket  and  set  it  on  top  of  the  cash-box 
just  as  if  it  had  been  a  prize  ally  or  a  dead  rat  or  any 
of  the  illustrious  seductions  of  boyhood.  The  newcomer 
became  rigid  with  revolt  and  interest.  "God!"  said 
he,  "it  looks  bored." 

"It's  sick." 

"What  do  you  call  it?" 

"It's  a  Gila  Monster."  This  was  said  with  the  ex- 
cessive indifference  of  great  pride. 

The  stranger  whistled,  so  he  must  have  had  some 
acquaintance  with  western  legend.  He  came  a  cautious 
step  nearer  and  looked  at  the  reptile  with  dazzled 
curiosity. 

"Don't  touch  it!"  Brainerd  warned  him  sharply. 
"It's  dangerous." 

"It's  filthy." 

"It's  nothing  of  the  sort!"  retorted  the  showman 
after  a  shocked  glance  of  concern. 

The  strange  man  smiled  and  when  he  did  that  his 
face  was  lighted  with  the  most  extraordinary  life  and 
sweetness.  "I  meant  it  looks  rotten,"  he  explained  in 
all  fellowship  and  examining  it  again.  "Very  queer 


308  MERELY  PLAYERS 

gentry!"  he  concluded.  "You  touch  it  yourself 
though." 

"It's  my  business  to — well,  yes,  I  do  kind  of  like  the 
little  buster,  I  'm  so  used  to  him. ' ' 

Conversation  lapsed  again  until  Brainerd  volun- 
teered: "It's  a  great  day  all  right." 

"Oh,  the  weather '11  do."  He  added  without  enthu- 
siasm: "The  summer's  pretty  much  always  like  this 
out  here — once  it  gets  settled. ' ' 

Brainerd  studied  him  out  of  slanting  eyes.  He  saw 
that  the  man's  interest  was  easily  roused  and  easily 
lost,  that  he  suffered  from  the  restlessness  of  an  in- 
tense vitality  condemned  to  inaction.  Brainerd  chose 
to  recognize  the  friendliness,  the  susceptibility,  and  to 
pass  over  the  lapses  into  self-absorption ;  he  was  touched 
and  roused,  without  knowing  why,  by  the  man's  voice, 
which  was  in  reality  the  most  expressive  instrument 
he  had  ever  heard.  Now  he  saw  that  the  man's  poor 
clothes  could  hardly  hold  together  and  he  believed  more 
and  more  firmly  that  the  man  was  hungry.  He  made 
another  advance  — ' '  You  like  to  see  the  show  ?  ' ' 

The  stranger  looked  up  at  him  with  a  surprised,  ques- 
tioning flash  and  the  showman  confidentially  added, 
"Not  a  soul  in  there." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  stranger,  comprehending  now 
the  whole  extent  of  Brainerd 's  cordiality  and  making 
neither  denial  nor  defense.  He  went  past  Brainerd  into 
the  tent  and  sank  down  on  a  bench  in  the  quiet  and 
the  ruddy  shadows ;  he  stretched  a  weary  arm  along  the 
back  of  the  bench  and  put  a  hand  over  his  face. 

He  was  roused  by  his  host's  voice  saying,  "Here 
you  are,"  and  by  a  revivifying  odour.  "Water  in  it?" 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  309 

He  shook  his  head  and  his  hand  closed  sharply  round 
the  glass;  the  rough,  stinging  whiskey  plunged  down 
his  throat  like  molten  strength,  there  came  a  glow 
through  his  starved  blood  which  was  like  a  triumphant 
answer  to  fatigue  and  poverty  and  disappointment. 
Yet  he  was  weaker  than  Brainerd  could  have  guessed; 
the  drink,  the  shelter,  the  kindness  produced  an  extraor- 
dinary relaxation  in  a  spirit  which  had  been  screwed 
to  too  tense  an  independence,  a  self-sufficiency ;  Brainerd 
had  a  moment's  terror  that  he  would  make  some  pas- 
sionate gesture  or  that  the  mist  which  rose  luminously 
in  his  eyes  would  brim  over  into  tears.  What  he  did 
say  was,  "That's  good!" 

Then  afterwards,  after  the  crackers  and  cheese  that 
Brainerd  managed  to  munch  at  too,  and  the  milk  req- 
uisitioned from  the  Gila  Monster,  over  the  glow  of 
Brainerd 's  tobacco  the  stranger  told  about  himself.  He 
said  he  supposed  Brainerd  knew  somehow  or  another 
that  he  was  an  actor  and  anybody  could  see  he  was  out 
of  work;  his  name  was  Herron,  Dan  Herron;  he  had 
come  out  west  a  lunger,  but  had  got  cured  there;  that 
had  cost  a  good  deal  and  as  soon  as  he  could  he  had 
gone  with  the  first  company  he  could  get  a  birth  in, 
so  as  to  get  east  anyway — the  company  had  been  headed 
for  San  Francisco,  but  if  you  could  make  money  in 
San  Francisco  it  was  as  good  a  way  to  New  York  as 
any  other;  he  didn't  care  what  road  he  took  so  that 
it  landed  him  on  Broadway !  Well,  that  company  broke 
up  before  it  ever  saw  the  coast  and  it  hadn't  paid 
salaries;  he  got  about  just  the  same  from  one  place  to 
another ;  in  these  little  towns  you  never  knew  when  you 
might  light  on  a  ten-twenty-and-thirty  and  perhaps  get 


310  MERELY  PLAYERS 

a  week's  work,  and  he'd  recited,  too,  while  his  clothes 
held  out— "Little  Jim,"  "Ticket  o'  Leave,"  "The 
Coast  Guard,"  yes,  and  even  "Mandelay"  and  "The 
Raven, ' '  that  they  took  to  just  as  well  as  to  the  chromos 
— at  fairs,  at  exhibitions  and  church  entertainments, 
which  when  you  came  to  think  of  it  was  rather  rummy. 
Oh,  he  had  got  on!  Still,  he  didn't  deny  that  he  was, 
as  they  used  to  say  in  this  rich,  present  neighborhood, 
"strung  on  wires,"  and  he  had  managed  to  get  run 
down  and  to  pick  up  the  first  drainage-fever  that  had 
been  lying  round  up  the  state;  that  had  kept  him  what 
you  might  call  occupied  ever  since,  though  he  could 
get  a  doctor's  certificate,  if  necessary,  that  it  was  not 
the  old  lung  racket.  They  had  let  him  out  of  the  hos- 
pital three  weeks  ago  with  six  dollars  and  a  half;  he 
had  started  for  New  York  on  that,  but  you  couldn't 
hire  more  than  one  automobile  a  minute  with  it  and  this 
was  as  far  as  he'd  got.  He'd  paid  out  the  last  dime 
he  had  on  earth  to  pass  the  gate  here  at  Alderson's. 

All  this  had  come  out  casually  between  puffs  of  happy 
smoke,  but  he  waited  a  minute,  studying  the  doorway  of 
the  tent,  while  from  the  den  to  which  it  was  relegated, 
the  Gila  Monster  regarded  him  with  a  chilly  eye,  before 
he  added  that  what  he  had  counted  on  at  Alderson's 
was  finding  a  lot  of  his  own  people  here — Wentworth 
and  Sam  Torrance  and  the  whole  crowd.  What  he  had 
deeply  hoped,  of  course,  through  all  the  tramp  of  get- 
ting there,  was  to  find  a  job,  but,  failing  that,  at  the 
worst  they  would,  of  course,  have  seen  him  through. 
He  had  made  a  point  of  getting  there  to  catch  them  at 
the  matinee,  so  that  the  calf  would  have  time  to  be 
fatted  and  prepared  for  dinner;  he  had  seen  himself 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  311 

presently  scattering  blessings  on  their  heads  from  the 
platform  of  a  Pullman  going  east.  Well,  man  that  is  born 
of  woman  and  so  on — they  had  preferred  going  to  Rock- 
ville  and  Silverton  and  Whip  and  Saddle  Clubs,  the 
devil  take  them,  and  missed  their  immortal  chance ! 
After  he  had  risen  to  the  company's  being  only  laid 
off,  not  disbanded,  he  had  fawned  on  the  fresh  lad  in 
the  box-office  for  their  addresses,  but  that  cherub  would 
only  say  that  they  would  all  be  back  on  Monday.  He 
didn't  mind  telling  his  host  that  but  for  him,  Brai- 
nerd,  Monday  would  have  found  him  a  lantern- jawed 
corpse !  Did  Brainerd  know  of  any  boot-blacking  or 
peanut-selling  that  he  could  get  to  do  till  that  loafer  of 
a  Torrance  turned  up  again? 

Brainerd  rose  without  answering  and  extricated  a 
small  lame  rabbit  from  a  newspaper  in  which  it  had 
lost  its  way.  ' '  They  bring  you  these  here  for  the  snakes 
to  eat  and  then  you  get  fond  of  'em  and  have  to  keep 
'em  and  get  them  something  to  eat,"  he  said  complain- 
ingly  to  Herron.  The  young  eagle  sidling  on  its  bench 
began  to  peck  and  fight  at  a  tin  cup  and  Brainerd  filled 
the  cup  with  water.  He  came  back  to  his  seat  near 
Herron  again,  still  carrying  the  rabbit  which  settled  on 
his  knees  and  began  to  wash  its  face,  a  distracting  per- 
formance. Brainerd  watched  it  from  under  slanting 
eyelids.  "Keeping  so  many's  kind  of  unbusiness-like, 
there's  no  getting  round  it — Why,"  he  suddenly  be- 
gan, "the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  stay  right  here, 
Mr.  Torrance '11  be  back  for  the  evening  concert  sure, 
some  of  the  others  will  be,  too,  and  they  always  drop 
in  to  see  the  snakes.  I'll  want  something  to  eat  before 
long  and  if  you  don't  mind  you  can  take  change  here 


312  MERELY  PLAYERS 

while  I'm  gone — tell  anybody  comes  in  I'll  be  back  soon 
and  keep  'em  for  me  and  then  when  I  get  back  you  go 
get  your  own  dinner."  He  spoke  with  complete  mat- 
ter-of-factness,  striving  to  convey  to  Herron  that  there 
was  nothing  unusual  in  his  entrusting  his  own  and  his 
partner's  business  to  a  strange  man  out  of  the  street;  he 
wanted  no  dinner  but  he  meant  to  get  out  and  settle 
Miller  and  to  tell  them  at  the  Casino — not  Poley's  nor 
the  Refreshment  Pavillion,  but  the  actual  Casino — to 
charge  up  Herron 's  meal  to  him,  he  wanted  to  make  sure 
of  its  being  a  good  one.  Even  his  impulsive  kindness, 
however,  was  rather  slapped  by  Herron 's  exclamation: 
"What!  Leave  me  in  charge  of  these  heathen!" 

"Only  to  tell  people  I'll  be  back." 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  handle  them?" 

"The  snakes?    No!" 

Brainerd  could  not  be  but  aware  now  that  there  might 
be  drawbacks  on  the  sympathetic  side  in  his  new  friend, 
a  concentration  on  the  personal  point  of  view  as  in- 
stinctive as  a  drowning  creature's  clutch,  but  not  so 
pardonable ;  you  might  not  have  a  very  pleasant  time  if 
you  stood  in  Mr.  Herron 's  way,  or  if  you  asked  him, 
with  whatever  generosity  of  intention,  to  stand  for  a 
moment  outside  of  it  himself.  Yet,  Brainerd  thought, 
he  didn't  know  when  he  had  liked  anyone  so  well,  had 
such  a  strong  kind  of  fellow-feeling,  yes,  and  curiosity ; 
he  believed  Herron 's  story,  but  he  suspected  something 
underneath  it,  and  then  suddenly  he  remembered  some- 
thing :  the  actor  who  had  been  going  to  marry  old  Pack- 
er's daughter!  Herron — was  that  it?  The  papers  had 
been  full  of  their  engagement  and  then  had  let  it  drop 
— quite  a  while  back  someone  had  told  him  that  the 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  313 

fellow  hadn't  behaved  himself  and  old  Packer  had 
kicked  him  out,  Herron — Herron — yes,  he  guessed  that 
was  the  name.  That  would  account  for  a  good  deal,  all 
this  hunt  for  work,  all  this  hard-upness  and  for  some 
thing  about  him  besides  that  made  you  think  he  was 
naturally  an  extravagant  kind  of  fellow,  pretty  quietly 
sure  of  himself,  but  nothing  disagreeable,  used  to  high 
living  and  a  lot  of  style,  the  sort  of  natural  high  tone 
that  you  could  imagine  some  of  these  foreign  fellows 
having  that  had  got  knocked  off  their  thrones,  not  that  he 
talked  that  way.  And  Brainerd  could  not  but  wonder 
how  on  earth  such  a  man  had  let  himself  be  kicked  out 
like  this,  how  on  earth  he  had  come  to  take  any  chances 
and  what  for — a  sick  man  that  couldn't  live  out  of 
that  very  climate,  poor  as  a  rat  evidently,  without  any 
work,  without  any  prospects,  why  a  marriage  like  that 
would  be  just  a  providence  to  him !  For  what  on  earth 
had  he  risked  it?  How,  with  his  greedy  way  of  hold- 
ing to  his  own  notion,  had  they  been  able  to  cut  loose 
from  him?  Not  that  Brainerd  couldn't  easily  imagine 
his  guest  doing  some  devilish  thing,  only,  why  hadn't 
he  been  too  smart  to  ?  just  when  laying  low  and  holding 
on  meant  his  life,  very  likely!  "I  wonder  how  they 
got  rid  of  you?  "  he  thought,  in  a  twinkling  of  his 
shrewd  eye  which  still  did  not  take  back  any  of  its 
kindness.  Glancing  round  the  den  he  picked  up  their 
talk.  "  'Fraid  of  them?" 

"Afraid  of  them!"  Herron  easily  repeated.  "You 
can  lay  to  it  I'm  afraid  of  them.  However,  if  you  as- 
sure me  that  they  can't  get  out — I'll  be  glad  to  stay," 
he  said  suddenly,  humbly,  in  one  of  his  soft  and  grave 
transitions. 


314  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"All  right — Oh,  there'll  be  a  lady  in  very  likely  while 
I'm  gone,  one  of  the  actresses,  Miss  Folsom,  may  be 
you  know  her?" 

"I  never  met  her,  but  I  know  who  she  is — she  burst 
onto  the  stage  about  the  time  I  first  dropped  off  it. ' ' 

"Well,  she's  going  to  star  next  year  in  a  show  where 
a  snake  bites  her — she  puts  it  on  her,  I  understand, 
suicide  or  some  such  thing,  and  she  comes  in  here  and 
handles  the  little  garters  to  get  used  to  'em.  She  said 
she  might  be  in  to-day  during  the  intermission,  she's 
at  the  concert!" 

"All  right,  so  long  as  she  doesn't  expect  me  to  fetch 
'em  for  her. ' ' 

Brainerd's  pride  of  craft  was  a  little  hurt.  "Of 
course,  a  fly's  dangerous  to  what  they  are!"  he  said. 
"I  wouldn't  let  anybody  lay  a  finger  on  a  poisonous 
snake,  unless  he  was  a  professional." 

"Do  professionals  bear  a  charmed  life?" 

"Heh? — oh,  well,  it's  different. — We're  used  to  it, 
you  know,  and  so  are  the  snakes  to  us.  Nine  chances 
out  of  ten  they  don't  bite  and  if  they  do,  after  your 
system's  got  used  to  it,  you  make  for  the  whiskey  or 
you  give  up  a  finger  and  it  all  comes  out  in  the  wash. 
If  you  haven't  got  that  kind  of  system  better  get  an- 
other job.  Mostly,  snakes  know  their  friends."  He 
surrounded  himself  with  rolling  smoke.  Herron 
reached  over  and  touched  the  drop  of  Brainerd's  sleeve. 
"Louder  than  words,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  that!  that's  an  accident.  Bound  to  have  'em 
in  the  best  regulated  business.  This  is  the  way  it  hap- 
pened. A  party  came  in  one  day  (two  women  and  a 
man — thirty  cents  worth,  by  George!)  to  see  the  show. 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  315 

Of  course  you  can  imagine  the  gabble  always  goes  on 
with  jays  about  the  snakes  being  kept  on  ice  or  their 
'fangs  extracted'  and  all  that.  I  never  can  get  used 
to  it  somehow,  and  mostly  I  carry  a  pencil  round  with 
me  to  jab  their  mouths  and  make  'em  spit.  But  I'd 
been  showing  'em  a  good  deal  that  morning  and  I  wanted 
to  let  'em  alone.  I  put  up  with  all  the  little  songs 
I  could  hear  the  man  giving  the  two  ladies  till  I  took 
up  the  Gila  Monster  and  then  all  in  a  minute,  when  he 
laughed  and  let  out,  'Oh,  you  can't  take  us  in!  That 
thing's  doped!'  all  the  blood  came  up  in  my  head.  I 
couldn't  find  my  pencil  and  'Doped,  is  he?'  I  said, 
and  stuck  my  finger  clean  into  the  Monster's  mouth. 
He 's  such  an  easy  old  soak  most  of  the  time,  very  likely 
I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  any  trouble,  even  if  I'd 
thought  at  all,  but  this  was  the  time  it  made  him  mad. 
I  ask  you  straight  if  it  wouldn't  have  made  you  or 
anybody  mad  if  you'd  been  in  his  place?  Oh,  he  bit 
me  all  right.  But  you  see  he  didn't  do  for  me,  quite, 
and  here  I  am." 

"The  danger's  all  over?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  so." 

"Guess  so?" 

"Why,  they  do  say  you  can't  be  really  sure  till  the 
six  months  are  up.  But  I  don't  imagine  it's  going  to 
kill  me,  after  all's  been  done  for  me.  It's  not  any 
way  likely  to." 

"Well,  you're  a  sport  all  right!"  said  Herron,  a 
trifle  palely. 

"Rot!  Anybody's  a  sport  when  it  comes  to  business. 
How  about  doctors  and  soldiers  and  firemen  and  en- 
gineers and  burglars?  Don't  they  run  risks?  Did  you 


316  MERELY  PLAYERS 

never  hear  of  any  accident  happening  in  a  factory  or 
a  mine,  at  a  picnic  or  a  church  sociable  or  crossing  the 
street?  How  are  you  going  to  steer  clear  of  'em?  Do 
people  sit  home  because  trains  smash  and  boats  go 
down  ?  No,  you  bet  they  don 't,  and  I  don 't  see  but  what 
women  have  children  quite  a  few!  And  as  for  that 
six  months,  do  you,  say,  or  Mr.  Sam  Torrance  or  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt,  know  what  sort  of  way  you'll  be  in  six 
months  from  now?  But  you're  not  shedding  any  tears 
about  it  that  I  can  see  ?  All  the  talk  there 's  been  about 
me  lately,  it  makes  me  sick!  'The  hero  of  the  day' 
one  of  the  papers  called  me  this  morning,  because  I 
was  advertised  to  handle  the  Gila  Monster  again.  And 
what  would  I  do,  I  'd  like  to  know,  if  I  didn  't  handle  it  ? 
Sit  still  and  squeal,  make  my  life  all  over  again,  in- 
side a  safety  appliance,  and  wish  I  was  dead,  sure 
enough!  'There  must  be  a  great  fascination  in  it!' 
they  say  to  you — fascination!  ach,  they're  enough  to 
turn  your  stomach ! — unless  there 's  a  fascination  in  eat- 
ing your  breakfast  or  in  a  man  riding  down  to  his  office 
in  a  trolley  or  doing  any  of  the  other  things  that  are 
all  in  the  day's  work." 

"Oh  well,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it,"  said 
Herron,  "you're  lost.  I  congratulate  you." 

"Heh?" 

"  'A  great  fascination  in  it!'  '  Herron  rose  and 
stretched  himself.  He  lounged  over  to  the  flap  of  the 
tent  and  stood  there,  gazing  across  the  lawns,  to  the 
now  empty  lobby  of  the  theatre.  "A  great  fascination, 
yes,  that's  what  they  call  it,  the  outsiders!" 

"Oh  here,  shut  up!"  said  Mr.  Brainerd  to  a  rattler. 
He  lifted  the  snake  a  moment  to  pacify  it  and  then 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  317 

when  he  had  looked  at  his  watch  he  said  he  guessed 
he  would  go  get  his  dinner;  he  went  away,  amused  by 
Herron's  frank  reluctance  to  be  left  with  the  snakes. 
That  gentleman,  however,  was  one  to  be  drawn  rather 
than  alienated  by  fear,  and,  once  in  privacy,  he  walked 
about  the  den,  the  cages,  and  stooped  here  and  there 
to  peer,  to  examine  with  a  fidgety,  boyish  daring,  "Not 
for  me!"  he  said  pleasantly,  conversationally,  to  the 
reptiles. 

Nothing,  however,  could  hold  him  long  but  his  own 
case.  You  could  see  the  thought  of  that  returning  now 
as  he  strode  up  and  down  the  tent  in  the  bright  rest- 
lessness of  his  dark  eyes,  in  the  re-tautening  and  keying 
up  of  that  body,  at  once  so  virile  and  so  frail,  which 
only  exhaustion  could  relax.  It  was  but  a  thin  and 
worn  scabbard  for  the  sword  of  so  keen  a  spirit,  the 
conjecture  was  very  pertinent,  under  any  but  the  soft- 
est, the  stillest,  the  easiest  conditions,  how  long  it  would 
last.  Yet  it  was  difficult  not  to  believe  that  the  robust 
life  itself  was  independent  of  its  dwelling.  At  length 
he  dropped  down  on  a  stool  behind  the  cages  and  sat 
there,  his  strong  muscles  still  strung  to  rigidity,  star- 
ing at  a  single  spot  of  earth  as  if  evolving  from  it  some 
dear  imperative,  inexorable  image — well"  might  Brai- 
nerd  marvel  as  to  what  could  have  parted  him  from  his 
heart 's  desire ! 

And  thus  locked  away  from  everything  but  his  own 
mood  he  was  unaware  of  approaching  steps  and 
rustlings,  even  had  he  noticed  them  he  would  have  set 
them  down  to  the  anticipated  Miss  Folsom;  he  would 
never  have  suspected  the  fumbling,  hesitating  entrance 
of  a  man  and  a  girl  who  appeared  tentatively  in  the 


318  MERELY  PLAYERS 

doorway;  he,  looking  about  expectantly  and  with  his 
expectation  evidently  confirmed  by  the  presence  of  the 
snakes,  leading  the  advance  and  she  following,  in  a 
vague  obedience,  after  him.  The  man  was  middle-aged 
or  elderly  and  dressed  in  expensive  common  clothes; 
he  was  a  thick-set,  big  creature  with  an  excellent,  though 
somewhat  heavy  jaw,  and  a  bold  forehead.  The  girl, 
beautiful  as  a  statue  and  of  something  the  same  weight, 
moved  forward  with  a  dull  and  apathetic  indifference 
so  natural,  so  unconscious  as  to  be  a  kind  of  grace; 
the  overblown  beauty  of  her  face  was  as  sweet  as  a 
heavy  rose;  under  its  weight  of  plumes,  of  azure  vel- 
vet roses,  her  magnificent  blond  head  sagged  dispir- 
itedly, her  light  blue  finery,  on  which  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  stick  another  rosette  or  flounce  or 
beaded  ornament,  trailed  limply  on  the  dirt  floor  of 
the  tent  and  swept  its  dust  over  the  rhine-stone  buckles 
of  her  large  tan-colored  pumps.  She  dragged  a  fes- 
tooned parasol  behind  her. 

"There's  no  one  here,"  said  the  man.  ''But  it's  the 
place.  There's  a  bench,  my  dear." 

Herron  lifted  his  head  and  his  jaw  dropped.  He 
listened  in  a  cold  sweat  of  expectancy,  but  the  girl  did 
not  speak. 

Her  companion  added,  "Do  you  feel  better?  This 
is  a  queer  place.  We  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  Casino 
as  I  wanted.  But  you  wait  here  for  Miss  Folsom  and 
I  '11  go  get  you  a  glass  of  wine. ' ' 

"Please  don't  get  anything,  papa,"  said  the  girl,  and 
Herron 's  heart  winced  at  the  voice.  "I  couldn't  go  to 
the  Casino,  it's  so  crowded.  That  was  what  was  the 
matter  with  the  concert.  I  guess  I'll  be  all  right  by 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  319 

the  time  Miss  Folsom  comes.  I'm  glad  she  stayed  till 
the  intermission."  She  looked  round  her  with  a  torpid, 
even  an  acquiescent  distaste.  "She  says  she  likes  to 
practice  here." 

Herron's  eye  measured  all  the  distances  of  the  tent, 
the  possibilities  of  a  seam  in  the  walls,  of  a  sudden 
retreating  run,  and  found  nothing.  His  back  presently 
caught  the  eye  of  the  girl's  father,  who,  walking  dis- 
contentedly about,  had  veered  near  the  cages  and  then 
exclaimed,  "Why  hello! —  '  and  at  that  Herron  got  to 
his  feet  and  came  quickly  forward,  confronting  them; 
the  girl,  turning,  was  struck  still  again  in  the  very  act 
of  recognizing  him,  with  a  little  formless  cry  like  that 
of  some  meek  animal  in  pain. 

Between  these  two  there  could  immediately  be  no 
doubt  of  a  poignant  relation,  of  a  past  in  which  it  was 
the  man  who  had  been  wrong  and  the  woman  who 
had  suffered,  of  a  present  in  which  he  had  the  grace 
to  feel  a  deepening  shame,  but  in  which  she  wished 
nothing  but  to  forgive.  The  girl's  face  was  painfully 
flushed,  but  a  kind  of  light  swam  in  its  tears,  the  man 
looked  sick  though  braced  and  ready,  and  a  really  re- 
markable nervousness  and  restiveness  twitched  in  his 
mouth,  in  his  lean  fingers.  Neither  of  them  spoke. 
It  was  the  father  who  stiffly  raised  his  hat  as  if  to 
indicate  that  here  was  an  occasion  for  formality  and 
nothing  more.  "Mr.  Herron,"  he  said  in  a  chill  salu- 
tation. "Come,  Amelia." 

Herron  paid  no  attention  to  him,  his  eyes  were  glued 
to  the  girl's  eyes.  Her  father  laid  her  passive  hand 
within  his  arm  and  tried  to  draw  her  away,  but  she 
stood  her  ground  with  a  kind  of  stolid  resistance  and 


320  MERELY  PLAYERS 

now  her  face  began  to  work  and  a  little  sobbing  breath 
crept  into  her  throat. 

Herron  's  hand  lifted  itself  and  fell  again,  desperately, 
"Milly!"  he  said,  "I — you  don't — don't  take  her  just 
yet.  I  want  to  tell  her — "  He  paused,  biting  his  lip. 

"You  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  Miss  Packer,  sir," 
retorted  the  father.  "Come,  Am  el — "  he  too  paused. 
The  young  woman,  still  inarticulate  and  still  looking 
only  at  the  young  man,  began  fumbling  at  the  breast 
of  her  dress,  from  which  she  presently  drew  forth  a 
little  embroidered  silken  case,  and  as  she  glanced  at 
it  her  tears  began  to  flow.  An  expression  of  the  most 
intense  annoyance  darkened  her  father's  face.  "This 
is  some  property  of  yours,  sir.  I  am  sorry  my  daugh- 
ter has  had  so  little  sense  of  dignity  as  to — to  keep  it 
— in  that  way.  I  urged  her  to  give  it  to  me  when  it 
first  came. — We  didn't,  of  course,  know  where  to  send 
it,"  he  concluded  with  a  sudden  business-like  probity. 

Herron  continued  to  look  in  the  girl's  face.  Her 
large  hands  were  working  with  the  little  case ;  it  dropped 
on  the  ground  and  she  held  out  a  letter.  "Is  it  for  me, 
Milly?"  he  asked  with  a  gentleness  that  seemed  to  put 
some  other  question. 

1 '  Yes, ' '  she  replied  in  her  inexperienced,  unmodulated 
voice,  "it's  for  you.  It  came  five  weeks  ago.  It's  from 
that — New  York.  It 's  from  one  of  your — theatre  men. ' ' 

At  the  same  moment  with  her  words  Herron's  eyes 
lighted  on  the  little  business  stamp  in  one  corner  of  the 
envelope  and  a  most  extraordinary  change  came  over 
him.  He  went  very  pale,  his  shame,  his  reasonableness, 
his  gentleness  vanished  at  a  stroke,  a  fathomless  vitality 
flamed  in  his  eyes  and  he  snatched  the  message  with 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  321 

a  complete  indifference  to  the  hand  that  held  it.  He 
threw  away  the  envelope,  the  few  lines  of  the  letter 
seemed  to  set  him  on  fire. 

"Five  weeks  ago!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Five  weeks 
ago,  good  Lord!"  He  made  a  quick  calculation,  look- 
ing blankly  at  his  companions.  "And  to-day — !  Is 
there  a  telegraph  office  in  the  grounds?"  he  inquired 
of  them,  casting  now  a  glance  of  savage  eagerness  into 
their  faces. 

"Yes,"  said  the  father  quietly.     "At  the  gate." 

Herron  ran  from  the  tent.  However,  "Wait  a  mo- 
ment," he  flung  over  his  shoulder  as  he  went. 

Except  for  the  snakes,  the  rabbits,  the  white  rats, 
the  young  eagle  and  the  ghostly,  pervasive,  filtering 
sunlight  that  was  almost  a  presence,  Mr.  Packer  and 
his  daughter  were  left  alone.  "Well,  Mealy,"  said  her 
father  with  unspeakable  bitterness,  "are  you  convinced 
now?  Are  you  satisfied  now, — now  that  you've  shown 
that  man  that  he's  broken  your  heart,  that  you're  just 
crazy  about  him  and  so  wild  to  get  him  back  that 
you've  even  got  to  carry  his  mail  in — pfa!  And  he's 
shown  you  what  you  amount  to  to  him  beside  a  letter 
from  one  of  his  theatrical  managers!  You're  not  in 
it,  that's  plain  enough  for  anybody  I  should  think. 
I've  got  that  to  thank  him  for  anyhow." 

"It  wasn't  because  it  was  his  mail,  papa,"  sobbed 
Amelia.  "It  was  just  all  I  had.  All  that  was  left — 
between  us.  I  just  had  that.  And  now  it's  gone.  I 
haven't  got  anything."  The  little  embroidered  bag 
which  she  had  treasured  on  her  bosom  lay  empty  at 
her  feet. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  demanded 
21 


322  MERELY  PLAYERS 

her  father.  "What  next?  What  is  it  you  want? 
Don't  simply  stand  there  blubbering,  for  God's  sake. 
Now  that  you've  seen  how  much  he  thinks  of  you,  can't 
you  begin  to  haul  yourself  together?  You've  said  all 
along  you  had  to  find  him,  to  give  him  his  letter. 
Well,  now  you've  given  him  his  letter.  He's  thanked 
you  for  it  very  politely,  very  gratefully,  just  like  him- 
self; he's  got  it  and  gone  off  with  it  and  the  thing's 
finished,  it's  over,  it's  done.  Come  on." 

"Oh,  papa,  I  can't  go  away.  He  said  to  wait  a 
minute."  They  had  both  forgotten  Miss  Folsom.  "He 
wants  to  speak  to  me,  I  want  to  see  him  again,  papa!" 

Her  father  stood  still  and  regarded  her  with  a  rage 
of  which  the  desperation  silenced  him.  "Oh  my  God 
Almighty!"  he  broke  out  at  last,  "you  want  to  see  him 
again !  What  for  ?  What  for  ? — can 't  you  answer  me  ? 
To  have  him  come  back  and  find  you  waiting  for  him 
and  put  him  to  the  trouble  of  having  to  tell  you  more 
clearly  that  he's  through  with  you,  thrown  you  over, 
that  he  don't  want  you,  you  can't  have  him,  you're  not 
good  enough  for  him,  he  can 't  see  where  you  come  in ! " 
At  each  phrase  he  shook  her  a  little  by  the  full  and 
lovely  wrists  which  in  his  pain  and  pity  and  outraged 
pride  he  had  very  sharply  seized. 

She  held  back  a  little,  not  stubbornly,  but  with  a 
yielding  whose  laxity  was  so  complete  that  it  was  ef- 
fectually opposition.  "Why,  papa,"  she  sniffed,  "I 
can 't  go  out  in  the  street  this  way ! ' '  and  he  yielded  to 
an  argument  out  of  his  sphere,  but  which,  with  a  coarse 
man's  fine  eye  for  the  proprieties,  he  recognized  as 
cogent. 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  323 

Amelia,  still  weeping,  fastened  her  dress  and  settled 
her  hair  and  her  hat;  she  opened  her  gold  hand  bag 
and  took  out  her  powderpuff;  she  made  some  brave 
and  ineffectual  dabs  with  it  at  her  poor  quivering  face, 
under  the  coldly  steady  eyes  of  the  Gila  Monster  and 
amid  the  continuous  purr  and  rustle  of  the  softly 
writhing  snakes.  Her  father  waited  for  her  with  an 
impatient  patience.  Before  she  had  done  a  shadow  was 
flung  across  the  dusky  light  and  Dan  Herron  came 
rapidly  into  the  tent. 

' '  Is  Brainerd  here, ' '  he  said  at  once. 

"Who?" 

"No,  I  see  he  isn't.  I  can't' find  him."  He  turned 
round  on  the  older  man.  "Mr.  Packer,  I've  got  to  ask 
you  to  lend  me  eighty  cents.  The  man  won't  send  my 
telegram  collect." 

"What's  that  to  me,  sir?"  Mr.  Packer  responded. 

Herron  turned  without  the  slightest  hesitation  to  the 
girl.  "Have  you  got  it?" 

"Oh,  Dan,"  she  broke  out,  "what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  it?  And  eighty  cents!  Haven't  you  got 
eighty  cents,  Dan?  Why,  what  can  you  have  been  do- 
ing and  what's  the  matter?  How  have  you  been  get- 
ting on  if  you  haven't  got  even  eighty  cents?  Oh, 
you're  not — not  suffering,  are  you,  Dan?  Not  in 
want?"  She  kept  coming  closer  to  him  and  at  some- 
thing she  saw  in  the  stillness  of  his  face  she  cast  her- 
self with  a  soft  wail  upon  his  breast.  He  put  his  arms 
around  her  as  if  he  were  glad  to  have  her  there  in  his 
clasp,  but  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  faint  suggestion,  of 
preoccupied  haste  in  his  manner,  which  was  in  strong 


324  MERELY  PLAYERS 

contrast  to  his  abashed  deference  before  he  had  received 
his  letter.  "No,  no,  I'm  all  right.  I  just  want  to  send 
a  telegram,  that's  all,  Milly,  don't  cry." 

"Well,  but  I  don't  know  what  it's  all  about,  nor 
what  you're  trying  to  do  with  the  telegram;  I'm  afraid 
it's  something  about  your  going  back  on  the  stage  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  do  that,  I  want  you  to  stay  here 
with  me — " 

"Amelia!"  cried  her  father. 

"Well,  but  I  do,  papa,  why  you  know  very  well  I 
do!  And  besides,  look  how  thin  and  poor  he  looks  and 
what  horrid  clothes  he's  got  on,  my  darling!  Why 
can't  you  make  it  all  up  with  us  and  come  with  us  and 
have  everything  you  want  and  be  comfortable  and  happy 
like  you  were — you  know  you  were,  you  used  to  tell  me 
so!  And  you  do  love  me,  I  know  you  do!" 

"Yes,  I  do  love  you,  Milly,"  said  the  young  man,  and 
he  regarded  the  proud  radiance  of  triumph  which  she 
cast  upon  her  father  with  a  tenderness  which  did  not 
prevent  him  from  adding:  "Will  you  give  me  that 
eighty  cents?" 

"Oh,  but  I  can't  give  it  to  you  if  it's  to  go  back 
on  the  stage  with!" 

"All  right,  then.     I  must  find  somebody  who  will." 

She  cried  out  and  her  father  began  to  tear  her  from 
Herron's  neck,  who  relinquished  her  with  a  kind  of 
fond  haste  and  another  kiss. 

"Come,  come,  Mealy!"  Mr.  Packer  urged. 

"Oh  no!  oh  wait!"  his  daughter  cried,  "maybe  I 
will.  What  was  in  the  letter?" 

"It's  an  offer,"  said  Herron,  pausing.  "An  offer 
of  an  engagement — to  me,  that  they  thought  out  of  the 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  325 

running,  and  yet  they  take  the  chance.  They  haven't 
forgotten  me,  there,  in  all  this  while.  There's  a  friend 
of  mine  in  the  office,  Ted  Chesney — but  you  don't  know 
him — and  he  wrote  on  the  chance  as  I  say  even  of  my 
getting  the  letter  and  he  says  he'll  hold  the  part  open 
for  me  up  to  this  very  day,  to-day,  do  you  see,  that 
you've  brought  me  the  news.  If  I  don't  let  him  know 
for  certain  to-day  he'll  have  to  give  it  to  some  one 
else,  I'll  have  lost  my  chance,  it'll  be  gone,  out  of  my 
hand.  If  I  telegraph  him  that  I'll  play  the  part  they'll 
be  glad  enough  to  send  me  my  fare  home.  He  says,  do 
you  see,  that  it's  a  part  made  for  me  and  he  knows  me, 
but  maybe  that's  not  so,  maybe  that's  just  talk  and 
the  part's  nothing;  it's  a  new  firm,  and  a  new  piece, 
maybe  it  won't  last,  but  no  matter,  it's  a  chance,  an 
opening,  it'll  take  me  home  to  the  east,  to  Broadway, 
to  God's  country,  it's  work,  it's  my  work — Oh,  my  God, 
my  girl,  how  can  you  stand  there  and  pretend  to  love 
me,  and  not  help  me ! ' ' 

The  girl  was  visibly  shaken.  "And  you'll  be  a  great 
success  ? ' ' 

"Very  likely." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  sure  you'd  be!" 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter? — "Well,  yes,  then,  Milly,  I 
mean  to  be." 

"And  you'd  be  perfectly  happy?" 

"I'd  be— satisfied." 

"But  if  you  got  sick  again,  away  off  there  all  alone 
and  couldn't  take  those  hateful  parts?" 

"Ah,  at  least,  I'd  be  there,  there  with  the  others,  in 
the  thick  of  it,  I'd  be  at  home." 

"At  home?" 


326  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"'Where  the  watchful  bugles  play!'"  He  stood 
looking  at  her,  through  her,  beyond  her,  in  a  fondness 
and  a  detachment  equally  cruel,  and  standing  so,  he 
softly,  raptly,  fiercely  quoted,  "If  I  shall  never  have 
been  remarked  upon  a  breach  at  the  head  of  the  army, 
at  least  I  shall  have  lost  my  teeth  on  the  camp 
bread!" 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  poor  Milly. 

"To  be  sure!  but  trust  me,  trust  me!" 

She  wrung  together  the  fingers  that  were  heavy  and 
agleam  with  jewels  and  he  took  them  into  his  hard,  thin 
hand.  "Once  for  all,  Milly,  if  you  love  me,  trust  me. 
That  work  there's  what  I  need,  what  I  must  have.  It's 
all  I  want,  it's  all  that  makes  me  worth  while  or  that  I 
am.  Will  you  give  it  to  me  ? ' ' 

The  girl  with  her  eyes  fallen  to  his  breast  said  pres- 
ently in  a  half  whisper,  "But  I  can't,  anyhow.  The 
doctor  says  you'll — die,  dear,  if  you  go  east." 

"Die!  die!"  cried  he  with  a  great  impatient  change. 
"What  of  it?  I'll  die  if  I  don't!  I've  died  here 
every  hour  for  two  years. ' ' 

"Oh!"  she  cried  in  outraged  tenderness  and  put  her 
hands  over  her  face. 

"You  ungrateful  hound!"  cried  Mr.  Packer.  "How 
dare  you  say  such  a  thing  to  my  daughter?  What  do 
you  mean  by  breaking  her  heart  and  then  insulting 
her?  I  picked  you  out  of  the  gutter  because  she  took 
a  fancy  to  you,  I  bought  you  for  her — yes,  and  with 
your  consent,  I  notice! — just  as  I  would  buy  any  other 
cursed  thing  she  took  a  fancy  to.  You  lived  in  my 
house  for  over  a  year  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  better 
than  my  own  son,  and  you  repaid  me  by  sneaking  away 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  327 

like  a  thief,  like  a  damn  thief !  How  dare  you  turn  on 
her  now  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ? " 

"How  dare  you  trust  her  to  a  husband  that  you 
could  buy?"  retorted  the  young  man.  "How  dare  you 
make  such  degrading,  such  impossible  conditions  to 
her  engagement?  Give  up  the  stage — !  Why,  what 
was  there  left  of  me  then  for  her  to  care  for?  Oh! 
I  know  I  've  wronged  her,  you  can 't  tell  me  that !  But 
if  you  see  me  stricken  by  meeting  her  and  ashamed  to 
face  her,  it's  not  because  I  had  the  decency  to  run 
away  from  her,  it's  because  I  ever  came  into  her  pres- 
ence, was  cad  enough  to  claim  her  society,  her  sweet 
goodness  on  such  slavish  terms — they  dishonor  her  too ! 
Your  daughter's  husband  ought  to  be  a  man,  not  a 
nice  oily  piece  of  your  machinery.  Why  didn't  you 
like  me  better  when  I  came  to  you  and  told  you  that  I 
couldn't  abide  by  our  agreement,  that  I  had  to  live  my 
own  kind  of  a  life  by  my  own  kind  of  a  trade,  why 
didn't  you  see  that  it  was  then  that  I  was  worthy  of 
her?  It's  you  that  insult  Amelia  when  you  try  to  bind 
her  to  a  man  without  work,  it's  you  that  have  made  her 
unhappy!" 

"Amelia,"  said  the  older  man,  "is  this  what  you  be- 
lieve too?  What  do  you  mean,  either  of  you?  What 
do  you  blame  me  for?  I  didn't  want  my  daughter  to 
marry  an  actor  and  I  took  you  and  gave  you  a  place  in 
my  business,  put  you  over  the  heads  of  better  men 
than  you,  put  you  in  the  way  of  making  more  money 
than  you'd  ever  dreamed  of,  made  a  man  of  you.  Do 
you  reproach  me  with  that  ?  I  didn  't  want  her  to  marry 
a  consumptive  and  I  got  you  the  best  doctors  and  the 
best  living  and  the  best  exercise  money  could  buy  and 


328  MERELY  PLAYERS 

kept  you  out  here  in  God's  good  open  air  and  put 
some  blood  into  you  and  gave  you  a  constitution  and 
maybe  cured  you.  Is  that  what  you  reproach  me  with  ? 
No,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is — it's  the  low  company  I 
took  you  away  from,  it's  the  drinking  and  carousing 
and  the  loafers  you  belong  with  that  you  want  to  get 
back  to,  the  lazy,  idle,  drunken,  irresponsible  life  that 
had  made  a  wreck  of  you  before  you  came  out  here — 
oh,  I  know  what  actors  are,  I  know  your  kind !  It 's  the 
decency  and  regularity  and  discipline  and  the  hard 
work  you're  running  away  from — 'work'  you  say  you 
want,  didn't  I  give  you  plenty  of  it?  Did  I  ever  take 
any  of  it  away  from  you  except  the  silly  monkey-shines 
you  happen  to  like? — Come,  what's  your  idea  in  all 
this  to-day  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  Do  you  think  there 's 
something  else  you  can  get  out  of  me  now? 

"Well,"  said  Herron,  "lend  me  that  eighty  cents  and 
you  shall  be  stark  clear  of  me  on  the  instant. — Heaven 
and  earth!"  he  burst  out,  "did  you  think  it  was  for 
your  stupid  money,  for  your  great  ugly  house  and  its 
horrible  society  that  I  wanted  her  ?  I  put  up  with  them 
because  I  loved  her  and  for  no  other  reason.  I  was 
tired  out,  it's  true,  and  empty  of  every  kind  of  hope, 
and  longing  for  something  to  hold  to  and  so  you  were 
able  to  buy  me,  I  was  able  to  deceive  myself  for  a  little 
with  your  ideas.  But — look  at  me.  Do  I  look  like  a 
man  that's  chosen  luxury?  I  look  like  a  beggar,  and 
I  am  a  beggar,  I  haven't  a  cent  for  a  bed  to-night  nor 
a  meal  and  I  don't  care,  I'm  happy;  I've  tramped  on 
foot  for  weeks  without  money,  if  you've  any  notion 
what  that  means,  creeping  a  little  bit  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  east,  and  I'll  walk  there,  maybe,  but  I'll  get 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  329 

there — oh,  I'll  get  there  all  right,"  he  cried  with  a 
sudden  change  of  tone.  "I'll  get  back  to  the  stage 
again,  Milly,  be  sure  of  that,  and  the  question  is  only 
whether  I  do  it  with  your,  help  or  without.  Listen  to 
me.  When  I  left  you  without  seeing  you,  without  ask- 
ing you  to  stand  by  me  or  giving  you  any  choice,  I 
did  you  a  grave  wrong.  Well,  now  then,  let  me  make 
it  up  to  you.  We've  another  chance,  choose.  Will  you 
marry  me?" 

The  girl  gave  a  shocked,  strangling  cry  and  swayed 
a  little;  the  father's  remonstrance  allowed  itself  to  be 
outfaced  by  the  passion  of  grim  quiet  in  the  young  man. 
"Will  you  come  with  me?"  Herron  continued.  "You 
tried  to  impose  your  life  on  me  and  now  I  should  have 
to  impose  mine.  If  I  get  this  part  I  shall  have  money 
enough  to  look  out  for  you,  if  not — I'll  do  all  I  can, 
Milly;  I  love  you,  I  want  you,  I'll  try  to  make  you 
happy.  You  shall  have  every  thing  that  I  can  get 
you  and  the  chances  are  that  I  can  get  a  good  deal. 
But  the  stage  I  stick  to.  It's  for  life.  Will  you  risk 
it?" 

There  was  a  long,  unhappy  pause.  The  girl  was 
leaning  against  her  father  with  his  arm  around  her 
waist  and  her  face  hidden  in  her  own  arms  which  she 
had  folded  on  his  shoulder.  Out  of  the  sobs  with  which 
she  shook,  certain  gasping  words  became  audible.  "Oh! 
Oh!  Oh!  what  shall  I  do?  Oh,  papa,  don't  you  think 
I  could?  Don't  you  think  maybe  it  will  be>  all  right, 
papa  ?  If  he  had  me  there  to  look  after  him  and  every- 
thing and  keep  him  from  getting  sick?  And  you'd  give 
us  plenty  of  money,  wouldn't  you,  and  all,  papa?" 

"Not  a  dollar,  Amelia,"  said  her  father. 


330  MERELY  PLAYERS 

"Oh,  papa!  oh!  oh!  not  when  it  would  make  me  so 
happy?" 

4 'It  wouldn't  make  you  happy,  my  dear.  Oh,  Amelia, 
Amelia  Packer,  I  think  you  must  be  crazy.  Why  can't 
you  see,  you  poor  silly  girl,  that  that's  just  what  this 
fellow's  counting  on.  He  thinks  if  he  can  get  you  east 
that  I'll  never  let  you  want  and  that  he'll  have  his 
own  way  and  he'll  have  you  and  the  money  too.  He'd 
be  able  to  neglect  you  and  spend  your  money  on  other 
women  without  anybody 's  interfering  with  him  and,  even 
if  you  left  him  after  he'd  broken  your  heart,  and  came 
home  to  me,  you  'd  never  have  the  same  spirit  about  any- 
thing, and  there 'd  be  children  and  all  to  give  him  a 
hold  on  you,  sickly  children  very  likely,  that  you'd  al- 
ways be  watching  and  dreading  for  him  to  crop  out  in ; 
he'd  always  have  some  way  of  getting  money  out  of  us 
till  he'd  drunk  himself  to  death  on  it.  Why,  you've 
got  enough  good  jewelry  on  you  to  take  you  east  and 
keep  you  in  clover  till  he's  had  quite  a  fling;  do  you 
think  he  doesn't  see  it! — But  no,  sir,"  said  the  older 
man  looking  now  into  the  younger 's  face  across  his 
daughter's  heaving  shoulders,  "let  him  be  careful  how 
he  tries  to  take  you  away  from  me,  for  I  warn  him  if  he 
does  he'll  have  to  keep  you.  The  worse  he  treats  you 
and  the  more  you  have  to  starve  and  suffer  the  quicker 
it'll  cure  you  and  the  better  I  shall  like  it.  Then  when 
I  take  you  back  it'll  be  on  my  own  terms.  Not  one 
cent  of  mine  will  ever  go  to  keep  you  together  and  I 
guess  he  knows  whether  he  can  believe  me." 

"Well,  Milly?"  said  the  young  man. 

"Oh,  but,  papa,  how  can  I — I  love  him  so,  I  love  him 
so,  what  can  I  do  ?  I  'm  so  unhappy,  if  you  only  knew 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  331 

how  unhappy  I  am,  papa!  I  can't  bear  it.  I'll  just 
die  too.  Isn't  there  some  way  that  you  can  fix  it, 
papa  ?  some  way — isn  't  there  ? ' ' 

"Mr.  Herron,"  said  Mr.  Packer  at  length,  and  the 
convulsions  of  soul  through  which  his  daughter  was 
dragging  him  writhed  pitiably  in  his  strong  eyes, 
"you've  made  a  fool  of  my  poor  child  and  she  makes 
a  fool  of  me.  She  thinks  she  can't  do  without  you 
and  I'll  make  you  one  more  proposition.  It's  my  be- 
lief and  hope  that  you  won't  take  it,  but  I  want  this 
girl  to  see  what  she's  worth  to  the  two  of  us.  Now 
then,  she  won't  marry  you,  of  course,  unless  you  stay 
with  us,  where  your  health's  good,  but  you  needn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  my  business,  you  needn't  do 
anything  at  all  unless  you  want  to.  You  two  can  have 
a  house  of  your  own,  since  mine's  so  distasteful  to 
you,  and  built  in  any  new-fangled  way  you  fancy;  I 
don't  say  I'd  keep  you  tied  down  here  altogether;  you 
could  go  away — in  reason ;  you  could  travel  a  winter  in 
Europe,  any  of  those  southern  parts,  mind  you,  that 
would  agree  with  you.  If  you  like  I  could  buy  you  a 
newspaper  out  here,  or  anything  o'  that  kind  that  you've 
a  taste  for.  You  should  have  an  income  besides,  of 
course;  say — "  and  he  named  a  surprising  figure,  "for 
you  and  my  daughter  to  make  a  good  appearance  on. 
So  there's  your  case — there's  your  precious  health  and 
there's  what's  a  fortune  to  you  and  good  work  if  you 
want  it  and  there's  the  girl  you  claim  you  love,  against 
this  tomfoolery  of  yours.  What  do  you  say?" 

The  actor  breathed  a  quick,  impatient  sigh  and  turned 
away. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Clara  Louise  Folsom  swept 


332  MERELY  PLAYERS 

into  the  tent.  Herron  turned  to  her  without  a  pause, 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he  said,  "will  you  be 
so  good  as  to  lend  me  eighty  cents?" 

"Oh,  don't  do  it!"  Amelia  cried  in  a  fresh  burst  of 
tears,  ''it'll  kill  him!" 

Poor  Miss  Folsom  was  naturally  embarrassed,  "Mr. 
Herron  ? ' '  she  inquired,  to  gain  time. 

"Ah,  if  you  know  me,  so  much  the  better!  You're  a 
professional,  perhaps?  I  want — " 

"He  wants  to  go  east  and  die,"  Amelia  interrupted. 
"He'd  rather  do  that  than  stay  here  with  us,  he  thinks 
papa's  so  mean  to  him.  He  wants  to  go  back  onto 
that  terrible  stage  that's  almost  killed  him  already, 
where  all  those  horrid,  pretty  women  are!" 

"Please  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Mr.  Herron," 
Miss  Folsom  smilingly  temporized.  "If  we  were  alone 
I  believe  you'd  snatch  my  purse." 

"Ah,  if  I  had  the  chance!" 

"  Oh !  he 's  not  particular, ' '  Mr.  Packer  contributed. 

"Particular!  Of  course  I'm  not  particular!  What 
do  I  care  how  I  get  it  so  long  as  I  get  it?" 

"But  about  going  east,  Mr.  Herron,  if  your  best 
friends — " 

"I'm  no  friend  of  his,"  said  Mr.  Packer;  "I  don't 
give  it  to  him,  because  I'm  going  to  take  my  daughter 
to  Europe  to-morrow  and  I  don't  want  him  hanging 
around  in  New  York  and  working  on  her  sympathies 
the  very  day  we  go  and  the  first  thing  we  get  back. 
Let  him  eat  his  heart  out  here,  like  he's  left  her  to  do 
for  months." 

"Oh!"  Herron  cried  to  Miss  Folsom  in  an  agony, 
"oh,  be  quick!  It's  four  o'clock  already!" 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  333 

Amelia  Packer  suddenly  ceased  her  tears  and  laid  her 
hand  with  a  deep  look  of  sense  and  majesty  upon  Miss 
Folsom's  arm.  "If  you  do,"  she  said,  "and  he  dies, 
you'll  be  responsible.  Now  you  choose." 

' '  I  can 't  take  such  a  responsibility, ' '  Miss  Folsom  said 
decisively  to  Herron. 

His  face  went  a  most  dreadful  white  and  he  stood 
gaping  at  her,  with  his  breast  rising  and  falling  in  long 
breaths ;  then  he  shook  off  once  more  the  disappointment, 
the  despair,  and  started  for  the  doorway. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Miss  Folsom!"  Amelia  cried.  "Oh, 
God  bless—" 

"Folsom!"  Herron  paused  to  cry  with  a  profound 
bitterness  of  amusement  and  relief.  ' '  Oh,  an  amateur ! ' ' 
and  as  he  turned  again,  Bralnerd,  with  his  good  hand  in 
his  pocket,  made  his  leisurely  and  unheroic  entrance. 

"I  heard  the  last  of  it  out  by  the  ticket-box,"  he  said; 
"I'll  lend  you  the  money!"  He  pulled  out  a  dollar 
and  handed  it  to  Herron,  who  sped  without  a  word. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  Miss  Folsom  said  to  him  se- 
verely, "that  that  was  a  case  of  life  and  death." 

"Oh,  I  guess  so,"  Brainerd  replied. 

Late  that  night,  after  the  evening  concert,  Sammy 
Torrance's  party  was  once  more  seated  about  a  table 
at  Poley's.  Miss  Folsom,  weary  of  Amelia's  lamenta- 
tions, had  attached  herself  to  them  and  the  group  was 
now  behind  the  blue  curtain  drinking  beer.  Little  Miss 
Waters  was  drinking  it  too.  How  could  poor  Mr.  Tor- 
ranee  prevent  her  ? — after  all,  it  wasn  't  as  if  her  people 
weren't  in  the  business. 

They  had  sat  late  and  they  were  alone  in  the  little 


334  MERELY  PLAYERS 

room  where  the  lamplight  lay  soft  on  the  plank  walls, 
a  bare  little  room,  coolly  redolent  of  new  wood  and  wild 
flowers  and  the  delicate  still  freshness  of  the  night. 
Through  the  open  window  at  their  side,  the  tender 
radiance  of  moonlit  fields  seemed  to  breathe  and  bloom 
in  sweetness;  now  and  then  its  whiteness  was  obscured 
by  a  friendly  policeman  who  had  no  ideas  about  licenses 
and  who  leaned  in  to  pass  the  time  of  night,  with  his 
hands  still  full  of  the  clover  that  his  horse,  thrusting  in 
its  own  noble  head,  ate  over  his  shoulder. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  agree  with  that  snake- 
man,"  Miss  Folsom  was  saying  to  Torrance  and  Don- 
nelly and  little  Miss  Waters.  "I  don't  see  how  under 
the  circumstances  you  could  want  him  to  go  east." 

"But  he  had  a  job!"  they  chorused  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment. * '  He  had  a  job ! ' '  and  they  regarded  each  other, 
she  and  they,  with  bewildered  eyes. 

Brainerd  came  in,  paused  for  a  moment  at  their  table, 
conversed  in  passing  with  the  policeman's  horse,  and 
dropped  into  a  seat  across  the  room.  As  he  gave  his 
order  he  took  something  out  of  his  pocket  and  set  it 
on  the  table,  holding  it  there  with  his  good  hand.  It 
was  the  Gila  Monster.  "And  some  milk,"  he  added 
to  Joe  Poley,  "warm." 

Those  at  the  other  table  continued  talking  about 
Herron,  and  Donnelly  instanced  it  as  particularly 
felicitous  that  Sam  Torrance  had  returned  in  time  to 
send  him  east  at  once,  so  that  he  should  not  start  out 
in  debt  to  the  new  management.  The  horse  crunched 
a  lump  of  sugar  from  little  Miss  Waters'  hand;  she  and 
the  policeman  exchanged  gratified  smiles.  Torrance 


THE  PROFESSIONALS  335 

looked  at  his  watch.  "Well,"  he  said,  "he's  three 
hours  nearer  to  New  York. ' '  And  with  that  there  came 
a  little  hush  upon  the  company.  It  was  as  if  some- 
thing stirring,  imminent,  vital  had  been  said.  "The 
shadow  of  an  eagle  passed"  over  the  lamplit  room. 
They  became  dimly  more  aware  of  their  smallness  in 
the  wonderful  still  night,  they  saw  in  imagination  the 
train  speeding  alone  over  the  great  prairies  like  a 
courageous  human  thing  bent  on  its  own  ends  amid  that 
cool  immortal  majesty  of  moon  and  darkness.  Far  at 
the  other  end  of  its  road  they  saw  the  monstrous  garish 
huddle  of  the  old  town,  its  cruel,  sordid,  grinding  ugli- 
ness gleaming  with  coloured  lights,  torn  with  infernal 
noises,  stained  with  dust,  with  sweat,  reeking  with  heat 
and  shaking  with  effort,  with  fear  and  greed.  It  was 
really  there,  as  actual  as  the  peace  and  beauty  that 
seemed  now  to  breathe  its  consolation  to  them  from 
the  fields  shimmering  and  silvering  in  the  light,  sweet 
air.  In  the  blessing  of  that  difference  there  seemed  to 
be  summed  up  all  their  happy  weeks,  all  their  gay, 
friendly  leisure,  here  in  this  young  country  which  was 
so  spacious  and  so  bright.  "He's  three  hours  nearer 
to  Broadway,"  Torrance  repeated,  and  then  Fred  Don- 
nelly said,  "Lucky  dog!" 

"What!"  cried  Miss  Folsom,  torn  from  contemplat- 
ing all  the  time  during  which  she  was  drawing  pay  for 
doing  nothing.  She  saw  Torrance  and  little  Miss 
Waters  looking  quickly  into  Donnelly's  face  with  the 
eyes  of  kindred  and  she  gave  a  puzzled  laugh.  She 
added,  "I  can't  understand  you!" 

They   brought   Brainerd   his  supper    and   the   milk. 


336 


MERELY  PLAYERS 


"Did  you  warm  it?"  he  asked.  He  tested  and  then 
poured  it  into  a  saucer.  "Here,"  he  said,  and  gave  it 
to  the  Gila  Monster. 


.  /  r  i 


